The Moose, the Nose, and Doctor Watson
by Bluegonfalon
Summary: There were odd things happening in the middle of Arizona. People disappearing in the dead of night, inexplicable illnesses, and exceedingly bloody but baffling murders. But help is on the way, when someone takes it into their own hands to call three people in a blue box and a famous doctor and a detective from London. Dean and Sam? Well, they just showed up on their own.
1. Chapter 1

**I have never published a story before on FFN, so I'm still working a few things out on how it works. If you'd like to review, please do so! Constructive criticism is my delight.**

**And, so we're all clear, I own none of the shows herein. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction, I'd be writing scripts for them.**

It was an average day in the TARDIS; The word "average" being used loosely, because there was no such thing as an average day in the TARDIS, just days where things blew up and the Doctor babbled about "Science-y and Time-y Wime-y things", where Rory sighed, kissed Amy, and went off for a cup of tea, and Amy laughed, kissed Rory back, and teased the Doctor about his bowtie.

It was one of those days, when the Doctor was fiddling with the tubes and knobs below the TARDIS console, that something blew up, and there was actually no time for poor Rory to go get a cup of tea to steady his nerves. According to the clock on the wall, which adjusted its time to whatever sun it was closest to, it was 193 zero zero, (the two "zeroes" indicating that it was afternoon), or roughly about 2:15 by Earthen standards. The TARDIS had been experiencing some mild turbulence, and was protesting slightly, creaking and groaning whenever she had to do anything. The Doctor was under the console, as earlier stated, Rory was above the console, attempting to push the buttons the Doctor asked him to and often failing, and Amy was handing tools to the Doctor whenever he called out for them.

"Hammer!"

Amy pulled a hammer out of the Tool Box (another thing that was bigger on the inside than on the outside and gave you the exact tool that you needed when you wanted it) and handed it to the Doctor. The Doctor promptly smashed it into the machinery. "Rory! Flip the Atmospheric De-Pressurization Switch!"

"Which one's that?" Rory called out helplessly, looking out over the sea of buttons and switches and levers and breaking into a cold sweat.

"The green one with the red streamers!"

"Oh, right, it _would _be the green one with red streamers." Rory said dryly, crossing round the console. It was a few moments until he finally found a lever that looked like it had been colored with a green crayon and someone had cut a red balloon into strips and attached those strips to the end of the lever. "Time lord technology." He muttered. "What other lever would it be, Rory? Of course it's the one with red streamers. Not the one with the blue potato buds or the Barbie doll head, but the one with streamers." He grumbled to himself as he pushed the lever downwards. It resisted, but he managed with a little force.

There was a small thump as he pushed it down, and then, with a crack, all the lights in the TARDIS abruptly went out.

****

"Arizona's hot, man."

"Thank you for the enlightening words." Sam Winchester said dryly, as he reached into the backseat to grab his laptop.

"I'm not being stupid, I'm just making a basic observation!" Dean exclaimed, apparently in a very good mood. "Lighten up and live a little, dude."

"Commenting on the general overall temperature of Arizona's arid climate does not count as 'living a little'." Sam replied absently, opening his laptop and going through his most recently made file of evidence.

Dean glanced away from the red sand and cactus littered scenery to glance over at his brother. "Whoa, hey, college size words. Somethin' bothering you?"

"Why would something be bothering me?" Sam asked absently, as he skimmed through a news article he'd saved to the computer.

"Because you normally use big words when something's bothering you, or when you're trying to show off. You don't have a show offy tone, and you're being pretty bitchy. So...something wrong?"

Sam looked up from his computer and stared at Dean in silence.

"What?" Dean asked with a shrug. "Just...noticing stuff..."

"You surprise me sometimes. Thought you hated the chick flick stuff."

"I do! It's just...I can be observant, okay? Got a problem with that?"

"No...not really..."

"OKAY! So. Is something bothering you or not?"

Sam considered what his answer should be for a moment, before sighing, crossing his arms and saying, "Nah. Nothing."

"Took your time on the answer."

"Shut up, I'm fine." Sam snapped, a little more fiercely than he meant to. As if to soften it a bit, he leaned back and added, "Seriously."

Dean shrugged and raised his fingers from the wheel in a surrendering gesture. "'s cool man. It's cool. Just asking."

They drove on in silence for another ten minutes, Dean tapping out a beat to a song in his head against the steering wheel, and Sam quietly researching a series of murders that were occurring in Rosita, a small town in the middle of Arizona. Suddenly, he raised his eyebrows and said, "Hey!"

"What?" Dean asked, glancing over.

"...there's Wifi out here. Five...bar Wifi."

Dean slowed the Impala to a crawl, and leaned forward in his seat. Sam did the same. They surveyed the landscape in front of them. Orange, almost red sand, olive green cacti with lots of "ouch like" (Dean's words) spikes, tall, reddish rock formations, and bright blue sky all around.

This was literally the middle of nowhere. There wasn't even cell phone reception. So...Wifi?

"Well that's different." Dean said.

"You're doing well on stating the obvious." Sam commented, as he connected to the Wifi network labeled 'Blue Box'. "Not even a password. Dude, I'm on the...uh. What..." He clicked a few times, typed a few things, and looked over at Dean, "This is weird."

"What is?" Dean leaned over to see what his brother was looking at. He leaned back again. "Weird. Can you click out of it?"

"Not really. Can't find an exit button."

Dean eased back on the gas, and pulled the car over to the side of the road, creating a dust storm as he braked to a stop. He then leaned over towards his brother's laptop again, looking at the video chat screen it was showing. The camera seemed to be displaying a cheerfully orange lit, though oddly decorated, circular room. Nobody was showing up in the camera yet.

"Hello?"

_A/N: Just sort of setting things up in this chapter. Sherlock and John will appear later. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi guys! Before I begin, two important things.**

**First, there was supposed to be a scene break in the last chapter, between the TARDIS, and the Winchesters. FFN cut it out for some reason, and though I tried, I couldn't edit the chapter to get the scene break in there. I apologize for that, since it's been bugging me.**

**Second, thank you to everyone who's read, reviewed, favorited, followed, and commented. This is all for you guys and I love each and every one of you.**

**Disclaimer: You ever seen Dean or Sam in a fez? Thought not. If you do, you'll know I became owner of Doctor Who and Supernatural and made some adjustments to the wardrobe. For now, I own neither show.**

"...um...Doctor? Was that supposed to happen?" Rory called.

"No, actually!" The Doctor cried, bouncing out from beneath the Console and bounding up the stairs, as the lights slowly started to flicker back on. "Move over, let me see what you did."

"Anybody else feeling some kind of vibration?" Amy asked, coming up the stairs after the Doctor. "Rather like a...hum?"

"Quietly now, Amy, we're dealing with deep...things!" The Doctor exclaimed, stumbling over to Rory's side. He wasn't stumbling because of anything the TARDIS was doing, he was simply...stumbling. "What did you do?"

"I just pushed the green lever with red streamers. Like you said." Rory replied, a bit miffed now.

"Let me see." The Doctor shoved Rory out of the way and examined the lever. "Ohhh, Rory!" He exclaimed with exasperation. "Look at that!" He gestured at the lever. "That's the green crayon lever with red balloon strips! I told you to flip the green switch with red streamers!" He leaned in forward towards Rory's face as he added, "Pay attention."

Rory was about to respond, when the TARDIS suddenly shook violently, flinging everyone down onto the ground.

"DOCTOR!" Amy yelped, clinging to the stair railing, as the TARDIS continued to roll and buck as though something was shaking it purposely. "Doctor, what's happening?"

"I don't know just...stay. Calm." The Doctor tried to pick himself up and head for the console, but was thrown down again. His fall was pillowed by Rory's stomach, thankfully. Of course, unfortunately for Rory, he had to pillow the Doctor's fall with his stomach.

"Ow."

"Sorry." The Doctor said, scrambling off and grabbing for a handhold on the railing. "Amy, Rory, get a grip and hold tight. The TARDIS is moving somewhere. Something's...latched onto her and is pulling her, and all because SOMEONE pushed the WRONG LEVER!"

"It _looked _like a green lever with red streamers!" Rory exclaimed defensively, as he too grappled for a hold on the railing.

"Not at all, Rory, it looks like a green crayon lever with red balloon strips!"

"Which looks like the same thing!"

"SHUT IT, YOU TWO!" Amy yelled rather crossly. "Everyone just...SHUT IT!"

And almost immediately, as though she too listened to Amy, the TARDIS stopped rocking and came to a complete stop.

Very, very slowly and gradually, Amy, Rory, and the Doctor all picked themselves up.

"You alright, Amy?" Rory asked, jogging over to her. He put his hands on her temples and examined her eyes.

"Fine, Rory. Fine."

"Yeah, you're fine." He confirmed, planting a quick kiss on her lips before turning. "Doctor, what happened?"

The Doctor was peering into his monitor, brow furrowed with deep concentration and maybe a trace of worry. "It would appear that we have moved. I mean, as in, something actually moved the whole TARDIS!" He turned around and spread his arms wide, a huge grin lighting up his face and a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Something actually...latched on, to the _whole _TARDIS, and moved her to...wherever we are right now!" He bounded down to Amy and Rory, excitement nearly radiating from him like light.

Amy and Rory regarded him without expression, waiting to hear what was so wonderful about this.

"And this is good...because?" Rory asked.

"Yeah, something latches onto TARDIS, drags her (and us!) to...wherever, and you're excited?" Amy exclaimed.

The Doctor's expression wilted, and he clasped his hands together. Clearing his throat he explained slowly, with the occasional hand gesture, "Ah, so, the TARDIS is very advanced alien technology. Usually, if someone is bringing her somewhere, some sort of outside force, it would be bad technology, usually someone stealing future advanced technology or a bunch of...bad...aliens. Bad stuff. Now that would be bad. But in this case, there was no technology involved. No...machine that made any kind of special beam, no...technical stuffy stuff."

"So how exactly did we get pulled out here to...wherever we are?" Rory asked.

"And where is 'here'?" Amy asked.

"Now that...is a bit harder." The Doctor said slowly. He turned and ran back up to the monitor and examined the readings, all in the curling letters of the ancient Gallifreyan language. "According to the scans the TARDIS somehow managed to make of the trace elements remaining after the sudden pull through the Time Vortex...the readings are inconclusive on _what _exactly brought us here..."

"Doctor, where is '_HERE'_?" Amy finally snapped.

"...but they do say _where_." The Doctor continued. "Alright, alright Amy, calm down. 'Here' would be...um...February 18th, 2012..."  
"Where, Doctor, _where_."

"I'm getting there! It's...Unknown location in Arizona, America. On planet Earth"

"So, 2012, Arizona, America?"

"That's what I just said, Pond."

Rory raised a hand tentatively. "Anyone care to explain why we keep landing in relatively modern times? In the early 21st century?"

"Because lots of stuff happens now!" The Doctor exclaimed, heading for the door. "Come along, Ponds! We're going exploring!"

Amy shrugged and trotted after him. Rory paused for a moment, wished for a cup of tea, and, with a sigh, followed after his wife and their best friend.

"Oh, Rory, could you go and get my sunglasses? They're on the seat next to the console." Amy called out, turning and walking backwards to face Rory as he stepped out of the TARDIS.

Rory nodded, and turned back inside. "Seat...next to the console..." He muttered, scanning the room, before seeing said chair.

But before he could head over there, something on the monitor caught his eye.

Rory had never been very interested in what the monitor screen displayed. Usually it was some technical or Gallifreyan jargon that made no sense to him, and thus didn't stop to bother with. But right now, something was different.

Curious, Rory headed over to it and examined it.

The monitor was displaying an image of two men, probably in their mid to late twenties, who both seemed in great need of a bath and maybe a shave. One was shorter, had short brown hair, and a fair amount of stubble. The other was taller, had shaggy brown hair, and had a painful looking cut all the way down his cheek. This seemed fairly normal. However, two things were out of the ordinary.

First, they were staring straight into the monitor as though they were looking into a camera and could see something. Second, there was a word in the Queen's own English below the image of the two men, clearly spelling out, "_Hello?"_

Rory tapped the monitor with a finger, confused by what it was showing.

The man with the shaggy brown hair raised an eyebrow, lifted a hand and tapped (it seemed) the other side of the screen in response.

Rory nearly fell over backwards.

Now the man with the short brown hair looked a little startled, and tentatively waved a hand in a silent greeting. Rory saw his lips moving, but there was no sound.

Beneath the word "_Hello?" _there now appeared other words.

"_Hi...you okay there?"_

"Um..." Rory said intelligently, not quite sure if that might make a response.

The shaggy haired man also raised a hand in greeting, and his lips moved, while text appeared at the bottom of the screen.

_"Hi. I'm Sam, Sam Winchester, and this is my brother Dean."_

Rory pointed to himself lamely. "...Rory Williams." He said out loud, hoping that would work.

The shaggy haired man, or Sam, as he had declared his name to be, looked a bit awkward as his words appeared below. _"Uh...nice to meet you...Rory."_

"Yeah..." Rory said slowly. "Sorry, but...you're in the monitor up here in the TARDIS. How are you doing that?"

Sam and Dean looked at each other, their faces showing blatant confusion, then back at the screen.

_"The what?"_

The message repeated twice, so Rory could only assume that they had spoken at the same time. "The...TARDIS, stands for...Time And Relative Dimensions In Space...and...you're showing up on the screen and you're...talking..."

_"Wait, you can hear us? It's not like...chatting with like...text and stuff? But without typing?"_Dean asked.

"No...it's like...you talking and...your words showing up on the screen." Rory said slowly. "Like text but no typing."  
The men both nodded.

_"Exactly what it's like for us." _Sam said.

"RORY!" Amy yelled, jogging up to the door and leaning in. "What is taking you so long? You lost?"

_"Whoa, dude."_ Dean said. _"It's showing that you just talked but your lips didn't move."_

"Uh...yeah. That's my wife." Rory turned and gestured to Amy.

"What're you doing?" She asked, jogging over to his side, and tossing her red hair.

"Uh...guys..." Rory said, facing the monitor, "This is my wife, Amy. Amy, this is Sam and Dean."

Amy smiled brightly and waved. "Hiii!" She exclaimed cheerfully.

Sam smiled and raised a hand in greeting. _"Hello!" _

"Oh my god, text just appeared on the screen." Amy said, her eyes growing slightly wide.

Dean chuckled and nodded. _"Hi. Yeah, we can't figure out the text either. Or...anything...really."_

Amy leaned forward curiously, hands on her knees as she crouched slightly. "So you're talking...and your words appear on the screen in written text instead of us hearing you. Is it like that on your end as well?"

Sam nodded in affirmation.

"That is so cool!" Amy exclaimed. "But how did you contact the TARDIS? You both friends of the Doctor?"

Sam and Dean gave each other sideways glances.

_"We're not really sure, honestly." _Sam admitted, as Dean looked away from the monitor, and then moved out of the line of vision from the screen. "_We are literally sitting out in the middle of a desert, wondering how the hell there was wifi out here. We pulled up the internet, and wham. There's a screen showing a really big, kinda orange lit room. Few seconds later, Rory walks in and taps the screen. Who's the Doctor?"_

Rory shook his head. "No one. Friend of ours."

There was a sudden commotion on Sam's end of the screen, and suddenly, there was the Doctor, sitting right next to Sam (who looked absolutely flabbergasted) and waving cheerfully.

_"Hello Amy and Rory!" _He exclaimed.

Amy laughed and waved. "Hello Doctor!"

Sam recovered from his shock and now looked angry. _"Who the hell are you?"_

The Doctor turned and saw Sam as though for the first time. _"Oh! Hello! I'm the Doctor! Friend of those two!" _He now gestured at the monitor. Sam's eyes flicked from the Doctor to the screen for an instant before settling back on the Doctor again.

"Sam, it's alright!" Amy exclaimed. "We were just talking about him, remember?"

Sam seemed about to respond when there was a sudden knock on the TARDIS door, and both Amy and Rory looked up, as Dean Winchester stepped in through the doorway.

There was a moment's pause while Amy and Rory's eyes went from Dean, to the monitor, to each other, and Sam and the Doctor looked from each other to the monitor and then back at each other and Dean's eyes went from the monitor to Amy and Rory and then all around the room, and he finally backed up slightly and called out (in a voice that was able to be heard, thank God) "Sam! You might wanna come here, think I found something."

Rory turned his head to the screen. "Your brother wants you." He said to Sam.

Sam paused for a second, before nodding, shoving the Doctor rather roughly, and moving out of the monitor. A few seconds later, a new voice could be heard, saying, "...that's a police call box. In the middle of the desert."

"Dude, that's what it looks like. But come on inside. You gotta see this."

Rory deduced that both were American, by the sheer roughness of their accents...and, seeing as how they were in America, it made...perfect sense that these two would be...well...American.

Dean reappeared in the doorway, followed by Sam now. Both gazed around the inside of the TARDIS in amazement, leaned back outside and examined the size of the box, then leaned back inside and looked around in shock.

"Dude. Awesome." Dean said slowly.

"Bigger on the inside? So cool." Sam said, his face lit up by a large grin.

"Taller one's cute." Amy whispered to Rory with a sneaky smile. Rory rolled his eyes, but put an arm around Amy in a semi-protective gesture.

"Welcome to the TARDIS!" Amy said grandly, flinging an arm out in a wide, sweeping gesture. "Time And Relative Dimensions In Space!"

"Time and Dimension traveling machine?" Sam guessed, hesitantly moving forward. Dean suddenly shot out an arm and pulled his brother back.

"Dude...wanna be a little careful and find out more about this before we go running off inside?"

"Right...uh..." Amy kept her wide grin and bounced excitedly down to her guests, who both leaned back away from her. "Oh relax, I'm not gonna hurt you! But let's see...we know each other's names...Oh! How'd you get connected to the..."

"Amy! Rory! Hello!"

Amy was interrupted by the Doctor, who was now bounding up into the TARDIS. He stopped short behind Dean and Sam, then clapped both of them on the back. "Hello. Have we met? Oh, yes, I've met you." He turned to Sam and leaned forward into the poor fellow's face. "It was rather a tense meeting..." He said slowly and almost darkly, scanning a cowed looking Sam from head to toe.

"Um..." Sam said, slowly reaching out a hand and gently pushing the Doctor away. "You got into my car and looked at my laptop. And then turned around and introduced yourself."

"He does that." Rory said sympathetically. "Well, sometimes he doesn't even introduce himself."

"Yes, well, introductions." The Doctor scoffed, with a dismissive laugh. "Who needs them? Am I right...uh..."

"Sam." Sam said, with surprising patience. "Sam Winchester."

The Doctor took Sam's hand and shook it fervently. "Lovely to meet you, Sam Winchester, I'm the Doctor. Just the Doctor. Not Doctor Winchester or Doctor Sam or Doctor Fish. Just the Doctor. Although Doctor Fish might be an interesting name to have, don't you think. And then you!" He swiveled around and faced Dean with excitement on his face, before he frowned. "...I don't know you, actually."

"He does that too." Rory said, fully understanding the look of total confusion on Dean's face.

"That's Dean, Sam's brother." Amy filled in.

"Oh." The Doctor bobbed his head around a few times, while a weirded out looking Dean just followed the Doctor with his eyes and leaned away from him. "Pleasure to meet you, very nice indeed. Now, I have to ask you two...how did you connect..."

"WE DON'T KNOW." Rory, Dean, and Sam all yelled out together.

"That was weird." Amy stated, grinning in delight at the sudden embarrassment of the three men.

Slowly, explanations were made. Rory explained how he'd found the monitor on and had spoken with the Winchester brothers, Sam and Dean explained how their laptop had opened to a screen that was already connected to the TARDIS monitor, the Doctor explained what the TARDIS was and who they all were, and before any more questions could be asked, Amy invited (well, politely ordered), everyone to the kitchen for a cup of something refreshing. The Doctor happily seconded that suggestion, and went racing off towards the kitchen blabbing about "Strawberry Lemonoosh Short Bread smoothie" and how "it was calling him!"

Sam fell behind the others, taking the time to stare at all the wonderful and yet strangely whacky things the TARDIS had scattered all about. Rory had taken Amy's arm in his own (he might be overreacting, but he was pretty sure that the two American men would easily be classified as very good looking, and he _knew_that Amy was classified as gorgeous, so it wasn't an entirely ridiculous notion that either one might develop an attraction of some sort). Amy, seemingly oblivious, happily chattered away with a rather awestruck looking Dean. Rory discreetly sighed. It was going to be one of those days.

Fifteen minutes later, everyone was gathered around the small pond that lay just outside of the kitchen (no one knew why there was a small pond outside of the kitchen, but there was one, and it was clean and cool, and there were nice chairs around it), happily sipping at some of their favorite drinks.

"I don't know if this is some sort of dream or...if I've finally died and gone up to Heaven or something..." Dean said contentedly, as he sipped at the most succulent beer he'd ever tasted. "But this is pretty damn awesome."  
"Decided we aren't too bad, 'ey?" Amy exclaimed with a laugh, reaching over and gently swiping Dean on the knee.

Dean eyed her with a bit of a smirk. "Not bad at all." He said teasingly. Rory got a bit uncomfortable, and sat up a little straighter in his chair. Thankfully, Sam seemed to notice Rory's discomfort, and elbowed his brother in the ribs warningly.

"Amy...Rory..." The Doctor suddenly said slowly, looking at his watch, a deep frown on his face. "Something's wrong."

Dean and Sam both visibly tensed and sat up straighter. Amy leaned over the Doctor's shoulder, her worry plainly visible. (Rory simply thought to himself "What's new?" but looked concerned for everyone else's sake.)

"What's the matter?"Amy asked, looking at the Doctor's watch but not seeing anything out of the ordinary.

"Doctor, what's up?" Dean asked rather authoritatively. "Talk to us, come on."

"Something's getting into the TARDIS." The Doctor said. He raised his head. For some reason, he didn't look concerned. He didn't even appear confused. Oh no.

Just totally and completely, one hundred percent, flabbergasted.

"How...how...no! Nothing gets into the TARDIS!" He jumped up from his chair and ran his hands through his hair madly. "Think think think! Donna once managed, but that was a special case! THERE'S NO HURON PARTICLES ANYMORE!"

The four humans all looked at each other with varying degrees of bemusement.

The Doctor continued to rant. "No, no no, the controls must be wrong! No, my sexy girl's never wrong, the TARDIS controls wouldn't lead me wrong. Must be something getting in...but how? How's it do that?"

"He got all this from his...watch?" Sam whispered.

"Yeah..." Rory whispered back. "He does this sometimes. He does a lot of things sometimes."

"He's weird sometimes, then." Dean concluded.

"Oh, all the time." Amy corrected with a nod. "All the time."

"Doctor..." Rory said in a normal tone of voice. "You were all excited about something dragging the TARDIS down here, now you're freaking out about something getting inside of the TARDIS. What changed?"

The Doctor paused. "Rory, say that again." He said slowly.

All eyes turned towards poor Mr. Pond, who had absolutely no idea what he had said that was so interesting. "I said you got all excited about something bringing the TARDIS down to earth right here and now you're disturbed about..."

The Doctor jumped over right in front of Rory and thrust his face up against the other's. "Rory, why would you mention that now? Why is that so important? Why why why why?"

Rory tried to back away, but was constricted in his movements by his chair. "Uh...because...I just thought I'd mention it."

"Yes but why _now_? Come on Rory!"

"...I don't know! You were being all whacky and I wanted to point out that this didn't seem to be anything new, and shouldn't we be looking for whoever is supposed to be coming in here that had you all...freaked out and mad and what?"

"Then you should turn around." Said a new voice, slow and rather gravelly.

Attention left Rory now (much to his relief), and all eyes, wide and curious, turned to face the newcomer, a rather short, dark haired man, wearing a suit, dark blue tie, and a tan colored trench coat. He seemed normal, but apparently wasn't, seeing as how he had somehow just appeared in the TARDIS, which was nearly impossible when her shields were up. Sam and Dean quickly relaxed, but the TARDIS crew continued to stare, the Doctor producing his sonic screwdriver warily.

"Who're you?" Amy demanded, standing and folding her arms. "And how did you get in here?"

"My name is Castiel." The dark haired man replied, barely tilting his head to eye her.

"It's okay, he's a friend of ours." Sam said quickly. "He...doesn't often use doors. We still haven't figured that one out."

"Little politeness next time, Cas?" Dean suggested, almost looking mortified, as though the dark haired man's actions reflected on him and his brother.

Amy Pond, who had faced down _Homo Reptilia, _Daleks, and Weeping Angels and stood her ground, felt an odd sensation of discomfort beneath the man-in-the-trench-coat's gaze. It was as though he was literally seeing inside _her._Not just examining her and the way she looked or what she had said, but her whole life. Her thoughts, her dreams, her loves, her emotions.

Annoyed by the discomfort of the sensation, but not willing to show it, Amy covered the emotion by getting angry. "Great. Then how'd you get in here, _Castiel_?" She snapped, tossing her red hair and pronouncing his name as though he'd said he was Elizabeth the First or Gandalf the Grey.

Castiel simply pulled his face into the equivalent of a shrug. "I am an angel of the Lord." He said calmly, as easily as if he were stating that Amy had red hair, or that the TARDIS was blue.

Rory took a deep gulp of his (thankfully cool) tea, as the Doctor switched on his screwdriver and scanned Castiel. "Long day." Rory sighed.

**_00000000000000000000000000000_**

_A/N: SH and JW will be in the next chapter. This one just got too long for me to add them. _


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello everyone! Thank you all for your patience. I would have updated sooner, but I've been terribly busy. I'm not very pleased with this chapter, but I needed to publish it so that it would be one less thing off my plate. I have a play I'm in, and this week is tech week, so I was like, "Publish now, worry about editing or whatever later." Regardless, hope you all enjoy it! :D**

**Disclaimer: You know what I am...I'm like a dog chasing cars. I wouldn't know what to do with one if I caught it! (Cookies if you get the reference.) Similarly, I wouldn't know what to do with SPN, Sherlock, or DW if I owned 'em. Because, no, I don't own them. Wish I did. But nope.**

It was a cold, rainy day in London, England, on February the 18th, 2012. Nothing entirely extraordinary for England. The fact that the heater had broken in a flat at precisely 221b Baker Street wasn't very extraordinary either, just highly uncomfortable for a normal medical doctor named John Watson, who happened to live there. It might have been uncomfortable for John Watson's roommate, a consulting detective named Sherlock Holmes, (who was decidedly _not_ normal) but one never knew with Sherlock. While John was wrapped in a thick jumper, a tan colored comforter, snuggled up to the fireplace with a cup of tea and a laptop, Sherlock was running around the flat in a dress shirt and boxers, ranting about green flecks in the painting and how that applied to the case in some sort of way - "...yes, yes, but _how?_"

"Tea's quite good today." John said contentedly, as there was a mild lull in Sherlock's raving.

"Is it? How excellent." Sherlock replied sarcastically. "Perhaps the fairies granted you a special gift. Don't bother me, John; I'm in the middle of something very important. You're being an idiot. It's distracting."

"If they did, then hurrah for fairies." John said, smiling slightly and ignoring all of Sherlock's other remarks. He enjoyed annoying Sherlock sometimes. It made up for the near heart attacks he had whenever he opened the microwave to have a nice little burrito and ended up skipping a meal, having lost his appetite because of a cooked body part he would find in the machine.

Life with Sherlock Holmes was dysfunctional and mildly hectic, though it did have its moments.

Sherlock waved his hand at John in irritation, almost as though he was flailing with one hand and both eyes closed. "Shut up. Shut up." He said with urgency, flopping down in a sitting position on the couch. "John, leave the room. I need to go to my mind palace."

"We've discussed this, Sherlock." John retorted, not looking up from his laptop and speaking with the voice of one who no longer cares. "When we're in the flat, _you_leave the room and go to your mind palace."

"_John_..." Sherlock growled, a hint of desperation at the edge of his voice.

John snapped his head up and looked over at Sherlock, ready to put the idiotic and stubborn man in his place...and stopped.

His eyes glanced over to the door to the stairs. Yep, shut and locked. Hadn't been opened. John had his key and was hiding Sherlock's, not allowing him to go out until he'd put on some trousers because of the bloody photographers and reporters and all. He checked his pocket. Yes, his key was still there.

He quickly glanced over to the window. Shut and bolted against the pouring rain. And he knew he would have heard someone come in through the window at the very least.

So how did the funny looking bloke in the trench coat and blue tie, who was standing right next to Sherlock, get in?

John rolled his eyes, sighed, shut his laptop and set it away. "Alright. Who's your frrr...who's this and how'd he get in?"

Sherlock got his sort of "Oh, whatever, secret's out, now who cares?" face and began shuffling through some newspapers on the coffee table, slamming them down occasionally. "This is Castiel. Doesn't matter how he got in, but you should leave."

"Oh, yeah, and when a strange man shows up in our..._my_flat even though all the doors and windows are locked, you think I'm just gonna go, 'Oh, okay, have a bit of tea with your new friend, Sherlock, play nice and don't scratch the paint, I'll go make some dinner for you two!' Like bloody hell I will. Now. How'd he get in?"

Sherlock ignored John and kept going through the papers. John brushed aside his comforter, sighed, and said firmly, "Sherlock."

"Divine grace."

Oh. Trench-Coat-Bloke (what was his name...Castiel?) had spoken. John was unamused. "Hahaha..." He pretended to laugh very, very dryly. "Very funny. You one of the religious fanatic fellows? Here on a case stemming back from the Crusades, eh? Well, no need to stick around, Sherlock's not interested, are you Sherlock?"

It was a bit of a shock for John when Sherlock raised his eyes only a little to meet John's gaze and gave him an annoyed look.

"My god...you...you work with this bloke." John said slowly. "You're joking. No, wait, you never tell jokes. Not proper ones, anyway..."

"Doctor John Watson." Trench-Coat-Bloke interrupted, with a rich, quietly commanding voice.

John stood up from his chair, taking a semi-defensive stance. "Ah, yeah, that's me. Do you...work with Mycroft, by any chance?"

"No." Trench-Coat-Bloke (_Fine, Castiel...pompous sounding name_) replied evenly. Before John could nod and say something about what a refreshing relief that was, Castiel continued, "We have not seen the need to work with the elder Holmes. But you and your charge...well, that is another matter."

"Hang on...my charge?" John repeated. "Who's my charge? And wait, wait, you know what, forget that, who the hell _are you_?"

"I am an angel of the Lord."

John narrowed his eyes and glared straight into the deep blue ones of the crazy nut case who was standing in his living room. The "crazy nut case" just tilted his head slightly, ever so slightly, and gazed (not glared) back at John.

John was infuriated by that gaze, and would have started an almighty great row if Sherlock hadn't looked up and exclaimed in exasperation, "Oh come on, John! Isn't it obvious that he's telling the truth?"

"Nope." John replied. "Sherlock, you don't actually believe..."

"Must I prove it to him, Sherlock?" Castiel asked, a touch of weariness creeping into his voice.

"You stay out of this." John said, thrusting a finger in Castiel's direction.

"No, no need to do the 'thing'." Sherlock said, pulling his phone out of his pocket and fiddling with it. "John, Castiel's an angel. Yes, I know it's hard to get through your thick little head, but if it's any consolation it took me nearly three minutes to figure it out myself the first time we ran into each other so it's perfectly natural that it takes you longer. My advice? Just take my word for it and pack a lunch." Sherlock stood up, still deeply engrossed in his phone, and crossed towards the window.

"Hang...no, Sherlock, no way." John followed Sherlock over towards the window. "I am not just going to 'take your word for it'...and why would I pack a lunch? This bloke is _not_an angel, he's just a sorry old nut with a weird voice and a made up name, and why you're going along with it..."

A sudden and unexpected crash of thunder interrupted John's tirade. He blinked, and stopped talking, forgetting where he'd been going with his words. All the lights in the apartment suddenly dimmed, and even the fire died down.

"Oh no..." Sherlock half groaned, half growled, stalking past John and spinning about in the occasional circle, gesticulating wildly at Castiel, who was standing perfectly still, a gleam of determination in his eyes. "I said not to do the thing!"

"John Watson." Castiel said coolly, ignoring Sherlock's protests about "the thing". "At any other time, I would indulge your lack of faith for a little longer, but I have a pressing engagement, and time is not on my side. I must therefore convince you speedily."

"Ah..." John said intelligently, and quickly shut his mouth. He had, surprisingly, nothing to say.  
The lights in the room dulled to an absolute minimum, barely casting a weird and eerie glow. Even the dark grey light from the window faded. And all the while, Sherlock continued grumbling, "Not the thing! Didn't we go over this? I said not to do it!"

It was rather like being a horror film, John decided, when there was a sudden flash of lightning that illuminated the entire room, casting tall, wide shadows on the walls.

Oh. No wait...those two shadows there...they were darker than the other shadows...

_Dammit, they look like wings. _

_And yeah, they're attached to...Castiel. Oh god, what am I getting myself into?_

But that was all that John saw, for Sherlock finally rushed in, grabbed Castiel by the shoulders, and roughly shook him. "That's enough! Castiel, I said not to do it!"

The darkness and shadows faded, the lights and the fire returned to their usual, cheery glow, and three entirely abnormal men were left standing in a perfectly ordinary living room, on a perfectly normal rainy day.

Sherlock dropped his hands from Castiel's shoulders and turned his head to face John. He looked annoyed. Castiel tilted his head and gazed at John with little expression. "Well?"

John, realizing his mouth was hanging open, closed it. He considered for a moment, cleared his throat, and breathed in deeply through his nose. He looked at Sherlock. Then at Castiel. He nodded. "Angel...ah...yep."

The door knob jingled as someone tried to open it, and failed. There was then a quiet knock, and Mrs. Hudson's voice came quavering through the door, "Oh boys! Are you alright in there? The lights all went out! Oh, Sherlock...the door's locked!" A note of excited suspicion entered her voice as she asked, "Are you up to something, you two?"

"Sherlock." John said flatly, removing the key to the door from his pocket. "Go put some trousers on."

After opening the door for Mrs. Hudson and explaining that they were fine and it must have just been a momentary power outage from the thunder, John was about ready to send her downstairs with a request for tea when she (finally) saw Castiel, who was still standing in the middle of the room, eyes on the floor, studying it calmly. It took another minute or so to introduce Castiel as...as... "CAS. Sherlock's working with him on a case. Top secret government stuff, very hush hush."

"Ohhh." Mrs. Hudson said, nodding. "I'll leave you boys alone then. But make sure he doesn't kill anything in the flat. You know what it does to the carpet and my nerves." She patted John's hand affectionately, and then pattered off down the stairs. John hung in the doorway, watching her go, and thought to himself for the _nth _time that being Mrs. Hudson, with her normal life, hardly caring what went on upstairs so long as nobody got hurt, must be a real treat.

He groaned inwardly when he remembered what was going on in his life right now. He straightened, and turned back to face the elephant in the room, otherwise known as the unimposing man in the tan trench coat who just happened to have wings and be an angel.

John folded his hands behind his back and stood up straight in the military way that he never really could shake off. "So...um." He said slowly.

The angel looked up at him, his face still expressionless.

"You...uh...ehm..." This was harder than John had expected.

Castiel just kept up with that unsettling gaze.

Thankfully, Sherlock now appeared, having actually gone and fetched a pair of trousers...though...he was only putting them on as he came into the room. "Right." He said, as he pulled them up. "Castiel, what've you got for me this time? Another good one?"

Castiel's head turned towards Sherlock, then back to John, and then again to Sherlock.

_God, that's creepy._ John thought to himself. _That...tilt thing he does with his head. It's just...weird._

"Arizona...America." Castiel replied, somehow managing to combine placidity and speed into his words. "Several unnatural occurrences, murders being the most recent. I...was intending to have my own...team work on it, but it seems to be more than we had originally thought. I am recruiting some outside help."

"And you came to me. Brilliant!" Sherlock said excitedly, running his hands through his hair. He paused, and narrowed his eyes. "No...wait...what'm I missing?"

"Shoes, Sherlock. And socks." John supplied.

Sherlock looked down at his bare feet. "Ah, yes." He rubbed his hands together excitedly. "Unnatural occurrences and murders in Arizona. Another fun one! Oooh, yes!" He bounded off to find his socks and shoes.

John was now left alone in the room with the angel, and was highly uncomfortable. He could feel his hands grow sweaty as he rubbed them together behind his back. "...Arizona?" He said finally.

Castiel nodded slowly. "It is a place in America, one of their states..."

"Yes, yes, I-I do know what Arizona is, I just don't...uh..._why_are you...working in Arizona, exactly? I thought angels were supposed to just...tell people to be good and holy."

"That is one of our duties, yes." Castiel said. "But we also protect the physical as well as the spiritual. And not all humans are protected against the evils of the..." He paused, carefully considered his words, and finished, "...of what you'd call 'the paranormal'."

Mildly disturbed, and wanting this conversation to end, John smiled nervously and nearly lunged for his laptop. "Shall I...book us some tickets to Arizona, then? Well...not you of course...you've obviously got your wings, but for us...wingless...individuals..."

"That will not be necessary." Castiel said. "We will travel by my means."

_Great, another black car with tinted windows, and a driver who doesn't say a word. _John was not pleased. At all.

Sherlock, all the energy of a three year old exuberating from him, bounced out into the room. "Right. Ready whenever you are."

"John will be accompanying us." Castiel said matter-of-factly.

"Of course!"

"I ah..."

Sherlock grabbed his scarf and coat from where they hung on the chair. "Yes John, you're coming." He said flatly, as though they'd been over this many times. "Right, whenever you're ready." He said to the angel.

"Hang on, I never agreed to this." John cut in, but no one was listening to him. With a sigh, he mentally prepared himself for an onslaught of annoying...things, and set off to pack a bag.

"Wait, John, where're you going?" Sherlock asked, tying a last knot in his scarf.

"To pack some clothes, since we'll be heading off to another continent and another country and I'd like to have some clean clothes once in awhile!"

"Don't need them." Sherlock stated cheerfully, crossing over to the hall door. He held it ajar, and yelled downstairs, "MRS. HUDSON! WE'LL BE LEAVING NOW. SHOULDN'T BE BACK FOR A FEW DAYS. WEEK AT MOST. DON'T TOUCH THE THUMBS IN THE OVEN. IT'S AN EXPERIMENT."

John sighed and picked up his laptop. He was going to need to blog about this. Therapy and all. On an impulse, he also picked up his half finished cup of tea and took a deep gulp. Yeah, that was cold and disgusting now. It was just not his day.

"Any time you're ready, Castiel!" Sherlock said cheerily, almost skipping over to the middle of the room by the Trench-Coat-Bloke. "Paranormal murders in Arizona. Brilliant!"

"Time and a place, Sherlock!" John hissed, reaching over to nudge his friend.

He was suddenly stopped by the odd realization that Castiel's thumb was now on his forehead. What...was that doing there...exactly?

There was a flash of light that seemed to occur only behind his eyes, a momentary sensation of a burning, agonizing headache, and then he fell over backwards because he was so dizzy. He was a little out of it as he fell, but alert enough to know that he hadn't landed on the rug in the living room at the flat, and wondered for a fleeting moment if he'd fallen into a potted plant urn or something. But then he groggily remembered that they didn't have potted plants in the flat, since Sherlock would have killed them all with experiments, and since all this wondering was hurting his head even more, he decided not to bother. He heard someone saying slowly, "My apologies, I didn't know he would be affected like this."

John rubbed his head and sat up slowly, feeling as though he had a hangover. A really painful, ruthless hangover. He noticed that his eyes were closed (things were moving slowly in his brain and realization deliveries and messages were probably backed up for miles) and that he was rocking back and forth very slightly, almost uncontrollably. It was uncomfortably similar to the time when he had been shot in Afghanistan. As if to add insult to injury, his shoulder now began aching. Not his day. Ohhh, not John Watson's day, for sure.

Also, it was really hot.

There was a sudden pressure of two steady hands at his temples, and a calm voice said, "Sir, my name is Rory Williams, I'm a nurse. Are you alright?"

"Not really, no." John admitted weakly, as he managed to open his eyes. He squinted at the bright sunlight that greeted him. There was a young man, with dark blond hair (Rory Williams, apparently), kneeling in front of him. Oh. And there was a desert scene, deep blue skies, white fluffy clouds, and reddish orange, rolling sand all around. John moaned and rubbed his face with his hands.

"Yeah, I know, a lot to take in." Rory said comfortingly. "You'll get there. Can you tell me your name, please?"

John considered for a moment. His mouth was very, very dry, and it took a few seconds to say thickly, "John Watson."

Rory nodded. "You're going to be alright, John." He turned around, and addressed a small group of people (three guys and one girl). "Does anyone have a water bottle or something?"

"I'm fine." John said, as the enormous pounding in his head began to slowly decrease.

"I think some water'll be helpful, though." Rory responded.

The girl hurried over with a water bottle, calling out, "I've got one! Here's one!" She held out a bottle wrapped in a sort of canvas case, the sort a hiker might carry. John reached out and took it.

"Thanks." He said, and proceeded to uncap and drain the entire bottle. Rory, still in his crouched position in front of John, shot an annoyed look at a slightly apologetic looking Castiel, who was standing behind John.

"What were you thinking?" He exclaimed, his concern for a patient overriding his nervousness about the fact that he was now yelling at an angel. "You could've killed him! He's suffering the symptoms of what usually comes from a major concussion! You said you were going to bring 'em here to Arizona using...divine grace or something, but you should have specified that there could be some bad after effects! Look at him! We're not all immortal and all powerful angels with wings and stuff like you!" Rory stopped...realizing with a frightful surprise that, yeah, he was getting angry at an angel...with..."wings and stuff". But what was really shocking was the fact that...Castiel actually looked timid and apologetic.

"I am truly sorry." He said quietly. "I did not know it would have these effects on him."

Sam came up behind Rory and stooped down next to John, who was still finishing off the water. "Whenever Cas uses his angel mojo, there's always some dizziness afterward. But this is the most extreme I've ever seen it."

John, having depleted the contents of the water bottle, was now feeling much better, and interrupted the conversation about himself. "I'm feeling fine now, folks, thanks. Just...can someone help me up?"

"In a minute. First, do you know where you are, John?" Rory asked, as he held up a finger in front of John's eyes and slowly moved it back and forth. John, being a doctor, knew the standard procedure to check for a concussion, and went along with it, following Rory's finger with his eyes.

"I...think I'm...you said Arizona."

"Okay, good." Rory took the finger away, put his hands on John's temples again, and gently turned his head from side to side. "Can you tell me what you see?"

"Red sand, lots of hot blue sky, a bunch of people, cactuses, adobe brick buildings (quite nice, by the way), a big blue police box (festival going on?) and a black car over by the blue police box."

"That's an Impala." Dean cut in. Sam turned and gave his brother an annoyed look, which clearly spelled out, 'Shut. Up.'

"Fine, a black Impala." John said rather irritably. "Also, I am now hearing a high pitched whirring noise. It's very annoying. Is that just me?"

"Nope." Rory said, removing his hands from John's head. "We're all hearing that. Explanations will come later. Introductions first. Think you can stand?"

"Absolutely."

Rory gave John a hand and helped him up into a standing position. John brushed off all the sand that had managed to collect on his clothes, and then, remembering the realization he'd come to about the weather earlier, (that it was hot), removed his jumper.

Introductions were made all around. There was Rory and Amy Pond (or Williams...very confusing); Sam and Dean Winchester, and everybody already knew Castiel. They said they had another friend named the Doctor, but he was absent at the moment.

And as for Sherlock? Well, Sherlock took the opportunity to annoy every single person present except Castiel.

First, he told the Winchester boys that their mother had been killed under dramatic and highly abnormal circumstances, that their father was also dead, (both touchy subjects), that they lived on the road, hunted paranormal creatures, ran credit card scams and probably often lied about their identities, (also touchy), that Sam had lost a loved one ("Wife? No, no, you're not one for deeply committed relationships, girlfriend.") in traumatic circumstances as well, and that Dean was a bit of a drinker and a womanizer.

Then, as though pissing off two young men with an assortment of guns, knives, and other weapons wasn't enough, he then proceeded to deduce Amy and Rory. He told Amy that she had grown up in a rather broken home, probably didn't have parents, had gone to see psychologists and distrusted them, that, despite the Scottish accent, she'd grown up in a small village in England, and that she was insecure about herself ("Not your image, that's rather obvious, considering the amount of care and time you've put into this outfit that you find highly flattering to your figure - you're proud of your figure, very proud - but more about your self worth. You worry about how useful you are to your friends, because you feel that you're not very talented, and quite correctly, too.") He turned to Rory (who practically had smoke coming out of his ears) and told him that he'd grown up in the same village as Amy, practically relied on his wife for any confidence in himself, received average marks in school, was considered rather worthless to his friends...

Sherlock was surprised to find himself on the ground a second later, head aching, not having seen the rocket fist punch that Rory threw at Sherlock's cheek.

"I was also a Roman centurion." Rory almost spat at Sherlock. "I spent two thousand years guarding a box that ended up saving the world, and my wife. Don't tell me that I'm worthless."

"Well done Rory!" The Doctor's voice carried from several paces away towards the group. They all looked up at the alien in the bow tie and tweed, who was scanning buildings with a silver stick that had a blue light on the end that made the high pitched whirring noise John had been complaining about ("Sonic screwdriver." Amy explained to all curious parties). "And we may need you again. We've got a problem."

"You sense it then, as well?" Castiel asked, his voice somehow carrying over to the Doctor, though he had not raised it.

The Doctor nodded slowly, and put his screwdriver in his jacket pocket. "Yep." He said quietly. "I do. Amy...we've got another time crack."

* * *

_A/N: Yeah, I had to have Rory do that. Sherlock just needs a good punch every now and again, and Rory needs to stand up for himself._

_Also, not sure how I'm doing on Castiel's or Sherlock's character. Drop me a line if I'm doing it wrong, please?_


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry for the long wait, guys, but I am finally updating again! I had a hectic week. (UPDATE: I had to remove the original chapter, as something glitched and the whole chapter posted twice...for some reason. My apologies for the multiple updates.)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of these shows. Don't...spear me!**

On an impulse, Rory leaped backwards at the words "time crack". His past experience with other time cracks had been, well, less than savory, to say the least.

"Time crack? What's that?" Sam asked.

"A tear in the binding fabric of space and time." Castiel said quietly.

"Yeah, imagine the whole universe is like a quilt..." The Doctor said slowly, turning to face the group and walking towards them, hands clasped behind his back. "Imagine a quilt...and...all the different squares on it are the different universes, and the stitching is like time, okay? And there's a tear between some of the squares. And the whole quilt could come undone if the stitching isn't fixed."

Everyone started to nod, as the example made sense to them. Then the Doctor added, "It's nothing like that, of course, but if it helps, imagine it like that."

"Is it dangerous?" Dean asked, looking up and down the street and eyeing any and all cracks with suspicion.

"Well..." Castiel started to reply slowly, but Sherlock cut him off.

"Of course it is!" He exclaimed with a disparaging tone, leaping up from the ground and adjusting his coat. "It could rip apart the universe if it grows big enough. Everything will unwind! Honestly, don't talk, it makes you sound like an idiot."

"Sherlock..." John hissed warningly.

Dean turned and glared at Sherlock. "Hey, listen, smart ass. Every time you open your mouth, stupid things come out. Like you sayin' I'm an idiot. 'Cause ya know what? I am. And since I'm an idiot, I'm not above punching you in your big ugly mug, kinda like Rory did over there. So you watch yourself. You got that?"

Sherlock only gave a condescending smirk, as though he were indulging a child. It was really rather funny, John noted, as Dean stepped forward to further engage the consulting detective, how much Sherlock resembled a two year old. Like the fact that he didn't know when to shut up, for instance.

"Dean." Sam said, stepping in quickly and setting a firm hand on his brother's shoulder. "Bigger problems."

Dean fumed for a moment, but finally scoffed at Sherlock and turned his attention back to the Doctor. Amy looked rather awkward, Rory annoyed, John frustrated, Castiel preoccupied, and Sherlock just kept smirking.

"So...um...breakfast?" Amy suggested, with a bit too much cheer.

About fifteen minutes later, they were all gathered around a large table in a small restaurant lovingly named "Sarahs". (There wasn't even an apostrophe on the sign, something that Sherlock remarked upon, scoffing at the lack of education amongst Americans. Dean managed to show sizeable restraint and only punched the consulting detective in the arm.) It was largely lit by the light from the windows outdoors, though a few small sconces on the walls were switched on, lending an artificial light to the place. There were saddles and wagon wheels and boots on the walls, and yes, they had a bar, but it wasn't open until after 5 PM.

The waitress at the front seemed a bit worried when a large group (all in really weird clothes, honestly) entered the building and requested a table for eight. The fact that there was only one girl in the group probably made her think that they "were some sort of bike gang", John mused, while Dean just chuckled and pointed out that no bike gang was "really gonna have a dude in a bowtie and another dude in a trench coat", while the Doctor interjected sullenly that "Bowties were cool!" Amy just laughed and agreed with Dean.

It took a few minutes, and a sweet smile from Sam, but the waitress finally managed to bring a few tables together and the group was seated. The Doctor sat at the head of the table (he liked being the center of attention), Castiel and Sherlock sat next to him, Dean beside Cas, John by Sherlock, Amy by Dean, (AND RORY RIGHT NEXT TO AMY), and Sam by John. (Rory, John, and Sam gravitated towards each other, sensing a bit more sanity between the three of them).

"This doesn't make much sense." Castiel said slowly, running a finger over the rim of the water glass he'd been provided.

"What?" Dean asked, sounding a bit annoyed. "The bar?"

Cas gave him the "unamused angel" look.

"Idiot." Sherlock grumbled. "Castiel is obviously speaking of the fact that while there is a time crack in this town, that is not the primary reason for concern, though, obviously, a time crack is a significant reason for anxiety. The...Doctor, what are you doing?"

The Doctor had pulled out his sonic screwdriver, and was buzzing it at a mobile phone. Where he'd gotten the phone, no one knew, until Castiel's eyes narrowed and he checked his pockets, but came up empty handed.

"Doctor...that is my cell phone." Cas stated slowly.

"I know!" The Doctor said, shaking the phone and continuing to sonic it. "I'm heightening the signal boost and giving it interdimensional contact."

"Try not to blow it up!" Amy yelped quickly, as the buzzing and whirring from the sonic grew a little louder and more annoying. Rory and Sam gave apologetic smiles to all the other customers in the restaurant.

"Yes, Pond, I know!" The Doctor exclaimed, though the phone was starting to smoke a little. The occupants of the table began to murmur when they saw the smoke, but the Doctor crowed with delight suddenly, switched off the screwdriver, and handed the phone back to Castiel. "There! Now it's possible for you to call the TARDIS phone wherever you are. Or I am. Or we are. Anyway. Sherlock was saying something intelligent. Go ahead, Sherlock."

Dean fumed, while Sherlock looked a little surprised (who ever encouraged him to talk?!) but continued speaking. "Uh...well, it's obvious that the Time crack is actually not our most major concern at this moment, though it..."

"Dude, we heard all of that." Dean interrupted. "Get to the point. What is the major concern?" The elder Winchester was quickly shushed by several others, which didn't help his grumpy mood improve.

"...though it is obviously cause for great worry." Sherlock continued, not even acknowledging Dean's outburst. "The main worry is the reason why we were all brought here. The fact that several murders are taking place in a small town in Arizona - all of them bizarre enough to require outside help and the attention of an angel, well, that's just not normal. The fact that a time crack has manifested itself at almost the exact same time as the bizarre murders can hardly be called a coincidence, thus revealing that the two events are intimately linked, thereby telling us that if we find the perpetrator of either event, we find the solution as well."

There was a moment of silence.

"Nice." Amy commented, nodding her head slowly. "Makes sense to me. There's just a slight problem though..."

"Problems later." The Doctor interrupted her. "Other problems now. I think...that Castiel..." (Here, the Doctor laid a hand on the shoulder of the angel, and the Winchesters and the Williams reflected how odd that was, the alien and the angel making contact). "...has something to say."

The angel looked about the table, and then, very slightly, leaned in closer. "I was the one who brought you all here. Yes, it was I who took hold of the TARDIS and brought her to this time and this location. She and her kind exude a certain grace, similar to that of I and my brethren, thus allowing me to beckon her to this place with little exertion. And, as you all know, I was the one that brought Sherlock and Doctor Watson to this place. This town...Rosita...it has been under my investigation for some time now. There were rumors pouring out of this place, speaking of..." He waved his hand in front of him as he searched for the word. "...strange...disappearances. Then murders began, all of them...bloody and showing signs of excessive anger. I managed to..." Castiel paused, coughed a bit awkwardly, and then went on, "...infiltrate the forensics lab and search for any distinguishing marks about the victims bodies that might give me an idea of what...thing I was after."

"How many victims have there been?" Rory cut in, a little hesitant about interrupting but feeling fairly certain that this information was relative and important.

"Seven, so far." Castiel said quietly, and a hint of distress entered his eyes. "Three men, two women...and two children."

Amy winced visibly, and Rory put out a hand and rubbed her back gently. Though they were hardened men who had seen their fair share of blood and violence, Dean, Sam, and John all allowed themselves a concerned nod. It was only human.

But, as always, Sherlock was there to piss them all off and not feel anything.

"Details later." Sherlock interjected, pulling out his mobile phone and tapping away at the screen. "What evidence did you find in the forensics lab?"

The angel's piercing, cold gaze shifted over to Sherlock, watching him as he tapped away at his phone. "Small bits of an element embedded in the edges of the wounds. They said it was stone."

"So someone took a rock and pounded away at the victims for no good reason, they were just angry, and you call all of us in?" John asked rather irritably. "Can't the local police deal with it?"

"Oh come on, John..." Sherlock started to snub, but Rory, fed up with Sherlock's narcissism, interrupted.

"There was a time crack, remember? Not to mention strange disappearances."

"And the fact that an angel got involved means it's big news." The Doctor added quietly, pressing the palms of his hands together and laying his hands down on the table. "Not to mention that a Time Lord is now involved as well."

If Castiel was grateful for the fact that the Doctor had basically just pledged his aid and (by extension, since they would follow him anywhere), that of his companions, he didn't show it. He simply nodded, and then put another fact on the table. "The victims were not crushed, Doctor Watson, though it is understandable that you might think so, as this is more typical. In this case, however, all the victims show signs of having been ripped apart."

Dean's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Ripped apart with stone in their wounds? I've never heard of anything that does anything like that." He jerked a thumb at his brother. "He might know. Smart in Stanford and stuff like that."

Sam shrugged. "Never heard of anything like that. How about you, Sherlock?"

Sherlock raised his eyes from his phone for an instant before returning his gaze to the screen. "Haven't the faintest."

"Oh, well that's just something, isn't it!" Dean exclaimed. "You go accusin' me of being an idiot and then when it comes down to it, you aren't much more help!"

"Now hold it!" The Doctor interrupted. "Honestly...humans! I'll never get through saving you if you don't learn to work together." (Castiel nodded in agreement at that). "So, we've got a time crack, we've got murders...but you also mentioned several disappearances?"

Castiel nodded. "Four so far. Humans often use the word 'disappear' to mean something has gone missing, but it is a deeper word than that. It means to 'vanish', something that has gone and left no trace of its whereabouts. In this case, the word is used appropriately. Three young women went out for a walk one evening, and never returned. A child wandered away from his family and was not seen again."

"And who's to say how many more the time crack's swallowed?" Amy added, with a nod. "Four gone from natural causes, looks like, since we remember 'em, but there could be lots that got...erased by the time crack." She quickly entwined the fingers of her right hand with Rory's left, as though desperate to keep him with her.

"That could be a regular kidnapping case." John interrupted. "Who's to say there's something...uh...paranormal about it? They don't even sound related."

"The child's mother was found ripped apart later." Sherlock announced, holding up his mobile phone to reveal a small news article talking about "Local Woman Found Dead in Home", with subtext stating that, "Authorities blame wild animal attack". "The three women Castiel mentioned..." Sherlock pulled his phone away and pulled up another page, then showed it to the table. "Were all married and yet childless. Their husbands were all found murdered." He pocketed the phone after letting the news sink in for a moment. "These cases are all related."

"Vengeful spirit?" Sam asked, wishing he'd brought his laptop from the Impala.

"Not likely." Castiel replied. "A spirit doesn't use corporeal weapons, if any weapons at all. Their wounds make little sense. These ones show the signs of having been made by a physical force."

"Can I...cut in here, really quick?" Rory asked hesitantly, half raising his hand, but quickly lowering it when he saw Sherlock looking. All eyes turned curiously to him, and he cleared his throat. "Look...so...you've got a time crack, you've got murders, you've got disappearing people...so to counter it, you brought in...those...two..." He waved his hand at Sherlock and Watson, "And you've got Dean and Sam, and you're..." (He looked over at Castiel) "...an angel...look, what can Amy and the Doctor and I do? We deal with...y'know, aliens!"

"Who's to say there aren't aliens involved?" Sam muttered, reaching for his water and taking a long sip. "Weird enough, anyway."

"...I'm involved...does that make it weird?" The Doctor queried.

"Yup." Amy replied cheerfully.

"You are an expert in time." Castiel replied, looking over at Rory. Rory, confused, pointed questioningly to himself. "Yes." Castiel said patiently. "You. Your wife as well, and the Doctor, of course. You have had first hand dealings with time cracks. You know what causes them. If a time crack is present, isn't it logical to believe that something caused it to appear in its exact location, which something is apparently still present and wreaking havoc. We have need of you. All of of you."

Rory sat quiet as he attempted to digest this information. For the moment, his only clear thought was, "Take that, Sherlock".

"So...what do we do, Doctor?" Amy asked habitually, and then slowly added, "Uh...Castiel?"

Castiel turned his head to gaze questioningly at the Doctor. Dean and Sam did the same. And, perhaps for once in his life, Sherlock looked to someone else to make plans.

The Doctor looked around the table for a moment in silence, eyes narrowed, lips pursed in a frown. Then, suddenly, with a mischievous, childish look, he grinned widely. "Oh...human beings. You are amazing! Oh...this is going to be fun! Right! We're probably going to need to split up. Work better in teams but all at once, you know. Sherlock, you and I will head off to find the time crack. I need someone to be able to figure out where it is while still figuring out who might have been affected by it. Dean, Amy, Castiel, you all go talk to the police. You'll need this." He reached into the inner pocket of his tweed jacket, pulled out his psychic paper, and tossed it to Amy. "Identification."

"Got it covered." Dean said cheerfully, holding up a badge that stated he was with the FBI. "Special Agent Aaron Hotchner."

Amy held up the psychic paper. "I'm Agent Amelia Pond with UNIT."

Dean's brow furrowed in confusion. "Says you're...Mrs. Pond and that nobody should mess with you or you'll kick them in the ass."

"Sam, Rory, John." The Doctor continued. "I need you all to try and speak to local residents. See if you can find out more information."

"I brought my laptop. It's in the Impala. I can look up local lore and legends." Sam volunteered.

"Good, good." The Doctor applauded shortly. "That'll work, but I mainly need you to talk to people. Getting it first hand is better than getting it from media."

"That piece of paper is blank." Sherlock interrupted, leaning over and staring at the psychic paper Amy was holding up.

"No, Sherlock...look, it says she works for Torchwood." John corrected, pointing at the same paper.

Castiel suddenly narrowed his eyes, and, with a certain amount of urgency, asked, "What ever happened to our waitress?"

"What waitress?" Amy asked absently, as she flashed various messages on the psychic paper to confuse Dean and John.

"We had a waitress?" Sam asked, taking a sip of his water.

The Doctor blinked. "Yeah, of course we had a waitress. Where do you think you got the water glasses from?"

There was a sudden, tense pause, and almost in unison, everyone looked down at the table. Amidst the salt and pepper shakers, the various syrup bottles, and the ketchup and mustard...everyone had a glass of water. But no one could remember where they'd gotten the glasses from.

The Doctor and Castiel both jumped up from the table. "Time crack." They both said, nearly chorusing.

"Wait...what?" A confused Dean asked, holding up his hands. "We never had a waitress...what's going on?"

"If one is sucked into a time crack, they are erased from existence." Castiel replied shortly.

"Meaning you can't remember them. All the things they did still exist, but they themselves don't anymore." The Doctor replied, pulling out his sonic screwdriver. "We've got to move fast. We had a waitress. I can remember her, but I have a different brain type from the rest of you. Castiel, you can remember her too, apparently."

Castiel nodded. "Dark brown hair, darker skin tones. She was tall, thin, she wore her hair in a ponytail, she had a small mole on the left side of her neck, wore an emerald ring on her finger...she's fading now..." He suddenly winced. "I am being summoned elsewhere." He looked apologetically at the Doctor, and then at Dean. "I am sorry to have called you and then...depart so suddenly."

"Perfectly fine, Castiel." The Doctor replied, but then added, "...get back as soon as you can, okay? Okay. Have fun." He patted the angel's shoulder.

Castiel nodded. "Good luck, my friends. I will return as quickly as I can." Then he, for once, headed out the door. They never saw him walk by the windows, so it was safely assumed that he had teleported elsewhere.

"I can't remember anything." Amy said quietly, fighting back inner panic. "Doctor, why can't I remember her? I should be able to."

"Keep calm, Pond, you weren't trying to remember her. It's okay." The Doctor breathed in once. "Right. Sherlock, with me. Dean, Amy, see what you can find." Sherlock jumped up quickly and headed for the door. Dean stood up and pocketed his "ID".

"I need a beer." He muttered. "Coming, Amy?"

Amy rubbed the bridge of her nose with a thumb and forefinger, then nodded. "Yeah...Yeah!" She hopped up. "Bye Rory." She kissed him briefly. "Be good."

"Take care of yourself." Rory warned, kissing her back.

"Let's go find the police." Dean said grumpily, stalking out with Amy following confidently behind.

"Good luck, Pond and Dean!" The Doctor called after them.

"Doctor!" Sherlock called, from where he was standing impatiently by the door.

"One minute, Sherlock!" The Doctor replied. He turned to the three men left sitting at the table. "Right...John, Sam, Rory...try to stick together. Don't take any extra risks, alright?" He patted John and Rory on the back quickly. "Coming Sherlock!" Then the Doctor half ran, half stumbled for the door.

John, Rory, and Sam were left sitting at the table awkwardly. There was a very long pause.

"No offense, but I feel like we were given the boring job." Sam piped up suddenly.

"The little kid job." Rory agreed.

"The safer job." John mumbled.

There was another pause as they all reflected on John's words of wisdom. Then, heads nodded in agreement. Yeah, their job was safest. Hopefully.

Still was a little kid job.

"We should think up a secret code name!" Rory suggested playfully, as they all headed out of the restaurant a few minutes later.

Sam laughed, but went along with the plan. "Well, Castiel, Dean and I all call each other 'Team Free Will'. How's that?"

"Need a name that sort of combines all three of us." John stated, rolling up his shirt sleeves and wishing for what seemed the millionth time that day that he hadn't brought his jumper with him.

After a certain amount of childish bickering, during which none of them felt very mature but all a little more friendly towards each other, they decided on TFW, which was perfect for all three of them. Rory said it stood for, "TARDIS Free Williams." John said it meant, "TARDIS Free Watson." And Sam said it still meant, "Team Free Will."

"Special agent double oh seven reporting for duty!" Watson exclaimed cheerfully, and then groaned. "Oh god, this heat."

"So where do we want to start?" Rory asked, as they walked down the nearly deserted main street of the town. He gestured at the various shops and buildings they passed, all either white adobe or made entirely of wood, as though they'd been specially designed for a Clint Eastwood film. "Seem a little...empty."

Sam suddenly groaned and cried out something like, "Aw, shoot!"

"What? What's wrong?" Rory asked.

"Dean's got my laptop in the Impala...and I know he drove it down to the police station. He doesn't walk if he can drive."

John suddenly realized that, although he'd been carrying his laptop during the jump through angel hyperspace, it was now gone. He couldn't remember holding it when falling over on his bum in Arizona sand, nursing that pounding headache. He cursed inwardly. "So...library?" He suggested. "They should have computers that we can research stuff on."

Rory sighed, and saluted and said dryly, "Agent double oh seven heading off to the library, sir. Quite a dangerous mission sir. Thank you sir."

"Library." Sam grumbled, as they all headed off. "One of these days, they've gotta learn to appreciate all of us."

John and Rory chorused their agreement. Team Free Will, or TARDIS Free Williams/Watson, was not off to a very rousing or enthusiastic start.

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_A/N: Credit to those who caught the Crimminal Minds reference! I only threw that in there because...I couldn't remember what alias Dean tends to use. *ashamed*_

_ Destiel4ever: I was originally not going to have Crowley in this, but after you commented, I realized that I may need him for a small part. Thank you so much for the suggestion! :D_


	5. Chapter 5

**Guys, I almost feel the need to apologize for this chapter. I wrote it while having a fever and under the influence of lots of medicine and vitamins, so it's very wacky and weird. I'm posting it because I needed to get it out of the way so I could finish up the rest of the stuff in my life. Next week, I promise the update will be a little more...substantial and purposeful. And...y'know, longer.**

**Disclaimer: Right guys, you got me. I'm really Stephen Moffat and Mark Gattis and every single person who's ever written Supernatural. I'm a prophet and...**

**No. Obviously not. I own none of these shows. NONE.**

* * *

"Find anything?"

"No, not yet. Shh..."

_A pause, and then..._

"I think she's going to kill us."

"Not if we can stop her!"

"How do you plan on doing that?"

"...I don't know yet!"

"Think of something fast, she's coming this way!"

"Been great knowing you, John, but since Sam can't seem to think of anything, I think this is it."

"Shut up, Rory!"

"Same, Rory. Goodbye."

The three men all held their breath as the footsteps came closer, and closer. The gentle _tap-tap_ of the delicate heels over the ground was nearly petrifying. And then...the youthful face of the librarian came into view, and all three members of TFW cringed.

"Have an accident?"

Rory made a noise that was a cross between a relieved sigh and a whimper.

Sam kicked him, smiled at the librarian and nodded. "Yeah, we were trying to get a book and it looks like the ladder fell over or something."

The librarian surveyed the damage: Three young men on the ground amidst a small pile of books, looking highly embarrassed but not hurt, and one ladder that was indeed off to the side, nearly hanging off the shelf on the ground. She tried not to grin as she asked, "You're not hurt, are you?"

Sam looked over at John and Rory. Rory shook his head. John said, "Nope, I think I'm good."

"We're good." Sam said, standing and offering Rory a hand. "Sorry about...y'know, the mess." He gestured with his free hand at all the books.

"Not a problem." The librarian said cheerfully, bending and picking up some of the volumes carefully. "The ladder's old, and falls over a lot. First time there's ever been this much of a mess though. Glad you're all not hurt. Oh, no no no! You don't have to do that!" She exclaimed, as Rory bent to pick up some of the books.

"I'd...like to help." He said lamely, gingerly holding one of the leather-bound books.

"No, it's fine." The librarian replied. "It's my job after all, not yours." She shoved some of the books back on the shelf. "Was there a specific book you were looking for?"

Sam's eyes suddenly narrowed, and he grabbed the book Rory had been holding. "I think we may actually have it..." He said slowly, looking intently at the title and cover. He flashed the librarian a golden smile, thanked her for her help, and then stalked off with the book to the computer. (Computer used in the singular sense because there was only one computer in the very small library). Rory and John looked at each other, rolled their eyes, and followed Sam.

"Alright." John said with a sigh, as he folded his arms. "What is so obviously special about this book that we mere mortals can't see with our unopened eyes?"

Sam looked up from the book. He was already flipping through at a mad pace, scribbling down notes with a mini pencil on a small note card. He grinned. "You guys honestly don't see it?"

Rory and John shook their heads, and John muttered, "No Sherlock, no."

With a flick of his wrist, Sam swept the book off the computer table and held it up to show them.

Rory couldn't even read the title, much less figure out what Sam saw in the book. John could barely make out (because of years of medical training and learning to unscramble odd handwriting) that the title said something about "_Smudge_...Indian Tribes...Legends...Tribal Magic".

"Uh...so?"

The excited light in Sam's eyes faded, and he lowered the book. "Huh. Woulda thought you guys'd get this kind of stuff. Well, anyway." He reopened the book and commenced flipping through it, taking notes every so often. "It's all about the local Native American tribes and their local stories, and, of course, their magic. It's a pretty old book..." He checked the beginning pages of the book. "...wow. Published in 1899...so it's pretty handy. Local legends and lore are always something that have to be checked out, because of people start telling ghost stories consistently over the years, the chances are that those stories aren't just stories."

Rory rubbed his nose. "So we're trusting...stories to help us figure out...a murder."

Sam raised his eyes off the book to meet Rory's. "You're the one who works with an alien and travels about in time and space. You wanna talk about stories being real?"

"I don't." John cut in. "So explain to me how..." He was interrupted by Sam's mobile phone going off.

"Hold the thought." Sam said, grabbing his phone and running outside with it.

John glanced over at a thoughtful looking Rory. "Do you...ehm...think he's crazy, at all? I mean, he's trusting a Native American...Unicorns, bunnies and magic book."

Rory considered for a moment, then said, "Well...compared with Sherlock, the Doctor, and Castiel? He's sane. Compared with the rest of humanity...no. But then again, none of us are."

"Point taken." John grumbled. He ran his hands over his face and groaned. "I need a cup of tea."

Sam jogged back into the library a few minutes later. "That was Dean." He said, sweeping up the 'Native American Unicorns, Bunnies, and Magic' book. "Apparently the Doctor wants us all to meet. Again."

John groaned again. "Oh f..." He remembered he was in a library and stopped.

"Did they find something?" Rory asked, following behind as Sam headed for the checkout desk.

"Dean said they'd found the cra...uh...the time break, and something else. Wouldn't say what it was."

"It's a time crack." John reminded Sam. "Crack, not a break."

Sam gave John a withering look. "Dude, you can't say that! I don't know know what you...er...blokes do in England, but "crack" is a drug here in America."

"We've got crack in England too." Rory mumbled, rubbing his nose with a thumb and forefinger.

"DUDE." Sam hissed, throwing his hands up in the air and then clapping one to the side of his head. "Would you shut up?! You're gonna make us sound like drug dealers! This is Arizona, man, you can't sound like a drug dealer here!"

Rory and John both regarded Sam with steady, cold, "unamused" gazes.

"I see why we got the kid assignment." John muttered.

Fifteen minutes later, after more arguing all through checkout (during which they'd been informed that they could actually buy the book for 99 cents, which Sam was happy to do), they finally managed to make it outside. Dean and Amy were waiting for them on the curb, leaning against the hood of the Impala.

"Well finally!" Amy exclaimed. "Took you all long enough."

"His fault." John grumbled, jerking a thumb at Sam.

Dean chuckled, and opened his mouth to make a snarky comment, but was interrupted by a new voice.

"Well, isn't this just_ cute!_"

Sam and Dean instantly tensed as a middle-aged man in a dark, professional looking suit and very tourist-y sunglasses stepped out from behind a corner of the library. Amy and Rory both raised their eyebrows.

"Canton?"

"Crowley?"

The Winchesters and the Williams chorused, but with different names for the person referred to.

Crowley (for Crowley it was), smiled and approached the group. "So! We all meet again! Not you of course, Doctor Watson, we haven't met yet. I mean...I know all about you so it's rather like I've met you. But you haven't met me. Sam and Dean..."

"Whaddya want, Crowley?" Dean growled.

"Oh, yeah, that's a nice greeting for someone who's saved your lives who knows how many times." Crowley said cheerfully, folding his hands over his chest. "Ah. Amy and Rory Pond. Or should I say Williams? Ah well."

"Sorry, we know you, right?" Asked the ever straightforward Amy.

"Actually, we knew Canton back in nineteen sixty something..." Rory said warily, slowly moving over to Amy's side. "And if my calculations are correct, Canton should be...you know...older looking."

"Oh, you've met my vessel!" The King of Hell exclaimed happily. "That's quaint. He had an interesting soul. Dean..." Crowley turned and waved a hand at the elder Winchester. "Care to introduce me to these two and explain?"

"This is Crowley...the uh...King of Hell." Dean ground out between his teeth.

Rory's poker face had been perfected by this time, so much so that he barely even twitched at the news. Amy raised an eyebrow in skepticism. And John...well, John sighed and nodded. "Of course you are."

"What's up with a 'vessel'?" Amy asked, hardly even fazed by the news.

"He's a demon in someone else's body." Sam explained. "Apparently, your friend...uh...Canton must've given his body over to Crowley in exchange for something he needed."

Rory's brow furrowed. "Ick." He muttered. His reaction was a far cry from his wife's; Amy looked visibly outraged. Crowley didn't appear bothered at all, and looked about ready to yawn in their faces.

"Well, I need to meet up with your alien friend. Where's he at?"

"What do you want, Crowley?" Sam snapped shortly.

"Didn't I just say?" Crowley asked with a sigh, spreading his hands. "Ah...well, I want to meet up with your Gallifreyan friend and help out here."

"Okay, how do you know about the Doctor and why the hell would you want to help us?" Amy asked, folding her arms and striding forward. "I mean...you've taken over the body of our friend, you're the King of Hell...I don't see many reasons to trust you."

Crowley looked at Amy and almost sneered. "You're very boring, you know. Fine. How about this? Without my help, the whole load of you are going down and this town gets buried under sand.."

"Wouldn't have expected anything else." John grumbled.

"Now take me to your leader." Crowley said sternly. Then, he paused, and suddenly broke into a laugh. "I've always wanted to say that."


	6. Chapter 6

**Greetings, my friends! I'm pleased to give you this update, as it was written during a period of lucidity and health for me, and thus shouldn't be as odd as the last chapter was. **

**I have received some very kind reviews over this time, and I just wanted to say how grateful I am to each and every one of you. I sincerely appreciate all those who've taken the time to favorite or follow. You are all my absolute favorites, and I love you all. **

**Disclaimer: Well aren't you sweet! You thought I was Steven Moffat and Mark Gattis and all the amazing writers of Supernatural? D'awww, how kind you are! And how flat out ridiculously wrong and foolish! No. I don't own any of these shows. DO I LOOK LIKE I ENJOY KILLING OFF EVERY SINGLE CHARACTER THE AUDIENCE FALLS IN LOVE WITH MULTIPLE TIMES? I didn't think so.**

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They ended up walking to the Doctor and Sherlock's location. Dean and Amy had originally come to pick up TFW and drive them to their location, but Crowley's appearance had brought about a change of plans. Dean had flat-out refused to have the King of Hell in his precious Impala. A hot and tired John had briefly argued, but when Amy staunchly backed up Dean, John resigned himself to unwanted exercise in the hot desert sun.

"Besides..." Amy said snidely, folding her arms and scowling. "This should be right up Hell Boy's alley...all the heat and stuff."

Crowley gave Amy a sideways glance, his face screwed into a look of annoyance. "I actually deal in cold, mostly." He retorted, with a condescending tone that betrayed just how little he thought of Amy.

"Y'know, you're going to get on just fine with Sherlock." John grumbled, jamming his hands in his pockets and striding ahead.

After a long walk - which seemed longer because of the boring scenery, the heat, and how angry everyone seemed to be with each other - they finally reached their apparent destination; an abandoned, run down, two-story building, with boarded up windows, on the very outskirts of town. A faded sign on the door tiredly proclaimed the place to have once been a food market named "Hi Yo Silver's". The door hung open, half off its hinges, revealing a dark interior.

"You're kidding me, right?" Crowley said incredulously, as he stared at the place. "The Oncoming Storm is...in there?"

"The who?" Sammy grumbled absently, kicking a tumble weed out of his way.

"The Doctor." Rory answered, just as a loud crash and a familiar (dorky) British voice started babbling something. "And yup. He's in there."

"What are you guys, a posse from a cartoon?" Crowley muttered, as Amy jogged up to the door and headed inside.

"DOCTOR!" She called, taking in the dusty interior of the front room. It was entirely empty, devoid of furniture or counters. It was flat, almost pointless looking. Sunlight attempted to fight its way in through the windows over the tops of the boards on the windows, but could only make a feeble attempt. What little made its way in cast an orange glow, in perfect squared shapes, over small parts of the floor, but it wasn't enough to reach the far nooks and corners of the room, which hid back behind deep shadows. "DOCTOR." Amy called again. "You in here?"

"IN THE BACK, POND!"

"Jesus Christ." John swore, as he came up behind Amy and saw the place for the first time. Crowley promptly flinched.

"Do you mind?" He hissed angrily.

Amy, attempting not to smirk, bounced forward and jogged towards the back of the room, There was a doorway in the back, probably having once been the entrance to the storage room. She headed for it, but was stopped by a hand grabbing her arm.

"Yo, hey, lemme go first." Dean said, one hand in his pocket, where he was no doubt clutching a gun or a knife.

"Yeah, let him go first." Rory echoed, as the others all filed in slowly.

"Lovin' the vote of confidence, Rory." Dean said sarcastically, as he cautiously moved forward into the back room.

As they all entered the back room behind Dean, a curious sensation ran over each of them. It was like the walls around them were charged with static electricity, waiting to shock them if they reached out suddenly. Goosebumps were felt by all, and (though it was hardly a relief), it seemed that the temperature had dropped by several degrees. Rory dropped back and hung by the doorway, rubbing at his neck, which felt stiff and...he winced to think of the word; plastic.

The Doctor and Sherlock were at the far corner of the room, both in crouching positions. The Doctor was holding up a large, blue light against the wall. A small (there was no other word for it) crack was settled in the wall; very thin, apparently quite young in its existence. For Amy and Rory, (and possibly Crowley), it was cause for concern. For Dean, Sam, and John, it didn't appear very significant.

"That it?" Dean asked, moving forward and crouching in front of the crack. "That the crack thing?"

"Yep." The Doctor said slowly. "It's not very old. Can't be more than a day or two."

"Two days." Crowley stated, stepping forward. "Threw another mountain of paperwork at me and slowed up Hades even further, so I know."

"Doctor..." Amy said, gesturing at the demon. "This is Crowley, King of Hell. And yeah, if he looks like our friend Canton Delaware the third, that's because he's stolen our friend's body."

"Not stealing, bargained and paid for." Crowley corrected shortly.

"It's a body! You can't just go and take..."

"Stop talking." Crowley said coldly, holding up a hand in a commanding gesture. Amy, for whatever reason, felt that she should hold her tongue after that.

"That's a grand trick." The Doctor said slowly. "I should learn that one."

Crowley's brow furrowed in confusion. "What...using a body as a vessel?"

"Oh, no!" The alien exclaimed cheerfully, standing. "That'd be a parasitic infestation, and an act of war under the Shadow Proclamation if you don't have permission from the host. No, I meant getting Pond there to stop talking."

"Hey!" Amy exclaimed, but Crowley cut her off.

"Much as I'd like to divulge cheap tricks over how to dominate women with ease, (which I have plenty of experience in), I actually have a more important matter to talk to you about."

"Hold on a minute." Dean cut in, anger grating in his tone. "We've got a time crack, weird disappearances and murders, and not long after we all show up, the King of Hell does too. I'd say there's a connection here."

"Oh, really!" Sherlock spoke up for the first time with a (once again) condescending tone. "Brilliant impression of an idiot! Just brilliant! Even for one with your low I.Q, isn't it completely obvious that the only reason Crowley is here is to assure us that he has nothing to do with this whole thing?"

Dean's hand went to his pocket for his knife. Sam quickly grabbed his brother's arm, while John hissed, "Sherlock, behave."

"Dean. Sherlock." The Doctor said quietly, and the two humans fell silent, though they kept glaring at each other.

"Your friend is correct, actually." Crowley said, indicating Sherlock as he moved forward and examined the Time Crack on the wall. "I am here to tell you exactly that; Hell hasn't done anything in this place."

"And why would we believe you, exactly?" Asked John.

Crowley looked over at the Doctor pointedly. "Ask him. He knows."

The light from the odd-looking torch the Doctor clasped in his hand bathed him entirely in a blue light, giving him a mysterious, almost enigmatic appearance. But a closer look at his face revealed a hardness in his eyes, the sort that always made Amy feel a little afraid of him whenever he showed it.

"I said, the last time I met you..." The Doctor said to Crowley sternly. "...I said that if I ever found you had meddled with time again, I would come and find you. I would hunt you down. I would take you and turn you over to the ones you feared the most. And I meant it too."

There was a tense pause in the room. The fury of the Time Lord had revealed itself behind the calm face of the man who stood before them, and it was, quite literally, frightening.

Crowley nodded. "Exactly. So...I guess you can kind of gather that I'm not here to gloat in everyone's faces that I messed with time. I'm here to say that this isn't any of Hell's doing. I even (as a favor to you, Theta), looked at the locations of all our agents in the local vicinity, and none of them are anywhere near this town. Or have been in the past four months, mainly 'cause nothin' happens around here. Hell's had nothing to do with any of this. Ask your boy over there if the police have found any sulphur around." He turned an expectant eye to Dean (and, by extension, Amy). "Well? Have they?"

Dean begrudgingly shook his head. "No. No sulphur. Just stone."

"See? Not my kind, not our fault." Crowley said, a note of relief almost creeping into his voice. He leaned over and traced the outside of the Time Crack with a finger. "Not my fault..." He murmured quietly.

"Well, if this isn't you and your bunch, then who is it?" Sam asked, stepping forward.

Crowley tilted his head and pulled his face into the equivalent of a facial shrug. "No idea. It..."

He would have said something further, but Rory had taken that moment to straighten and step backwards rather aimlessly onto a weak spot in the floorboards. A loud, and very obnoxious creaking noise was heard, and all heads turned to Mr. Williams. He blushed. "Uh...sorry...floorboards...old..."

Crowley sighed in exasperation. "Well...ah...what was I saying...oh yeah. When I first heard about the Time Crack, two days ago, it kinda shocked me. Nothing of any significance..."

There was a loud creak from the floorboards beneath Rory, and, before he could do anything, they suddenly snapped apart. With a cry, Rory lost his balance and fell into the dark pit that had suddenly opened up beneath his feet.

"RORY!" Amy screamed, diving towards the hole.

"Oh my god!" Sam exclaimed, as the entire group scrambled forward. "Rory, you alright? Rory!"

Amy gripped the jagged edges of the hole in the floorboards, lying on her stomach, leaning over and trying to scan the darkness below. The lack of the light in the room was not working to her advantage; one could barely see a foot in front of them in the room even with the Doctor's light, so it was impossible to see anything in the pit that had risen up and snatched Rory. "Rory!" She called, fighting off the bitter feeling of panic that rose from her stomach.

"I'm fine! I'm fine!" Rory's voice rose up from the blackness, carrying only the slightest tremor of fear or relief with it. The group (with the exception of Crowley and Sherlock) all sighed with relief.

"Are you hurt? Rory, keep talking to us, are you okay?" The Doctor shone his light down into the hole, twisting it about in an attempt to pinpoint the location of his friend.

"Uh...I'm a bit sore...and there is a lot of dust down here so I feel ready to sneeze, but...no, I'm okay."

Amy nearly cried with relief at the news, but, being as she was, Amy Pond, she instead yelled out, "Well it's your own fault! Fallin' down on the floor and hittin' your bum; you're lucky you didn't break a leg, ya moron!"

There was a moment's pause before Rory's voice floated back up to the surface, "Yeah, well, it was just my amazing skills that kept me from being hurt. You know, Roman centurion stuff and all that. Almost ninja."

"Ninja who...managed...to break a bunch of floorboards." Sam called with a snicker.

"All part of the plan, young Winchester." Rory called. "It was all part of the plan. Batman stuff. Have to commune with...my bat friends."

The Doctor had, by this time, shone his light around the entirety of the hole's circumference, but he couldn't seem to locate the bottom...or Rory, by extension. "Rory...can you see the surface from where you are?" He cried.

There was a shuffling noise from below the ground, and then Rory replied, "I can see a fuzzy blue thingy (think that's your light, Doctor), but I can't see anything else. I'm...pretty far down."

Dean made a low whistling noise. "Wow, man, you sure you're not hurt?"

"Certain."

"How'd ya manage that?"

"Ancient bale of straw or something. Terrible on the allergies, but lovely on a falling bum."

"Well, you're down pretty far, I highly doubt we can just reach you." The Doctor said, running a hand through his hair and making it stick up in all directions. "Anyone got any ideas?"

"Got some rope back in the Impala." Dean suggested slowly. "But it's about a twenty-minute walk to get there and another five minutes to drive back. You okay down there for that long, Rory?"

"Oh, swell. Just me and my bat friends."

"Are there really bats down there?" Amy asked, inching back away from the hole at the thought of creepy crawly creatures.

"Sure sounds like something's down here."

Sam suddenly stood up, reached inside his coat, and pulled out a flashlight. He switched it on for a moment, and, though it looked feeble next to the Doctor's light, it worked, apparently. "Hey Rory! There room for two down there?"

"There's room for hundreds, if you're a bat."

"Enough with the bats!" Amy exclaimed, jumping away and shuddering with disgust. "Ugh!"

"Sorry Ames...couldn't pass it up. Yeah, Sam, there's room for two."

"I'll head on down and keep ya company, then." Sam said, tucking his flashlight away for safety. Dean raised his eyebrows.

"Whoa, whoa, hey!" He exclaimed, laying a hand on his brother's chest. "You wanna talk to me about this for a second? You could get hurt jumpin' down there!"

"Rory didn't." Sam said cheerfully. "And he was falling. I'll have a light to help me jump down by. I'll be fine. Besides..." He lowered his voice a little and grew more serious as he added, "I'd...kinda like to check out what's down there."

"Alone?" Dean asked dubiously.

"Nope. Got Rory and his bat friends."

Dean groaned, and punched his brother in the shoulder. "Bitch."

Sam laughed and punched Dean right back. "Jerk." He replied, and they both grinned at each other before turning back to the rest of the group.

"I'm headin' out for the Impala." Dean said, patting Sam on the back quickly. "Anyone wanna come with me?"

John raised his hand, a gesture that was nearly lost in the darkness of the room. "I'll go. Don't like the heat much but this place is giving me the creeps, honestly."

Dean nodded and looked at the rest of the group. "Amy? Sherlock? Doc?"

The other three said they didn't want to come (Crowley seemed to have vanished, which none of them really minded), and Dean and John headed back to the outside light and heat again. Sam, in the meantime, was cautiously testing to see how strong the boards surrounding the hole were. He would gingerly place a foot on them and slowly rest his weight on them, seeing how long it would take for them to creak. Satisfied that the ones he were standing on would bear his weight without cracking, he prepared for the jump.

"Doc, can you hold your flashlight up high enough that I can see it as I jump down?" He requested.

The Doctor nodded, but frowned. "That's a terrible nickname. It's 'the Doctor', not 'Doc'! Honestly, what is it with you Americans and always shortening my name?!"

"It's how we do it." Sam said with a shrug. He leaned over the hole, and then winced as a memory swept over him of a much more massive hole, (a pit), that he had once jumped into for the sake of saving the world. "This is just gonna be a running theme with me." He muttered to himself. He cleared his throat, and checked to ensure that his flashlight was alright. "Ready, Rory?"

"I'm not the one jumping!"

"You're the one I could accidentally be landing on instead of some very itchy hay." Sam replied with a hesitant laugh.

The Doctor clapped him on the back. "Good luck Sam. Don't forget the magic word...geronimo!"

"That's a stupid word."

"It's a brilliant word!" The Doctor exclaimed, almost offended.

"Whatever." Sam huffed. He steeled himself, and winced again as he envisioned falling into the blackness. He soon helped his courage by reminding himself mentally that he was acting like a baby, and, with no further coercion needed, he jumped.

He had landed on a bed of straw, amidst a cloud of dust, before he even had time to feel panicked about falling.

"Welcome to the Bat Cave!" Said Rory's cheery voice, as a strong hand clasped Sam's and helped him into a proper sitting position.

"Yeah, well, I wasn't gonna let you have the place all to yourself, Alfred." Sam said with a snort, and then sneezed. "Ugh. You're supposed to be the servant, why don't you ever clean down here?"

"Ran out of funding during the Great Depression, Master Wayne." Rory retorted.

"Yeah, well..." Sam chuckled as he pulled his torch out from his jacket pocket. "I bet that was all your..." He switched on the flashlight.

Both he and Rory cried out and flinched at the same time.

"What? SAM? RORY! WHAT'S THE MATTER?" The Doctor and Amy's voices yelped down into the hole, sounding confused and terrified.

Sam breathed hard, trying to collect himself. God, what was the matter with him? He shouldn't startle that easily! "We're fine! We're okay, we're...we're fine. It's just...it's weird, it's a creepy looking statue."

"Don't take your eyes off it." Rory whispered urgently, his eyes wide and staring. Sam could feel the vibrations of Rory shaking next to him.

"Why?" Sam asked, not understanding to obeying all the same.

"Doctor!" Rory called out brokenly. "Remember how you told me about the Weeping Angel things? Well...not to be annoying or anything...but I think we might have one down here. In fact...uh, from the way our torch is flickering, yeah, I'm pretty sure this is an Angel."


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: If I wrote for Supernatural, there would be more blood. If I wrote for Doctor Who, there would be more...weirdness. If I wrote for Sherlock, there would be more...Johnlock. And stuff. So no, these aren't mine. **

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Whenever Sam found himself in a potentially lethal situation, there always came a moment of complete and total calm. A single, fleeting moment, where all his muscles stilled, his breathing felt unnecessary, and he saw everything with total and complete clarity.

For a moment.

Then he tensed. The urgency he had heard in Rory's voice was one he recognized all too well. It was not the fear of someone who had read about something on the internet and thought, "Those might be scary." It was the fear of one who knew, deep down inside, in the very fiber of his being, that the _thing_ in front of them was evil. Dangerous. Life threatening. The sort of thing that makes one feel repulsed in the pit of their stomach, the sort of thing one instinctively _knows_to be afraid of.

The Doctor and Amy were yelling something about blinking and eyes. Sam tried to tune into what they were saying, but was distracted by the fact that his flashlight was flickering (_I just put in new batteries yesterday!) _and that he had just glimpsed another, similar looking statue, just standing there, a little to his left.

"Okay, I know that one wasn't there before." He breathed.

"Don't take your eyes off it!" Rory hissed. "And don't blink, okay? 'Cause these things..."

"Don't blink?!" Sam snapped. "Why can't I blink? You know what; scratch that, what the hell are these things?"

The blue light from the Doctor was waving wildly up above their heads. "They're called Weeping Angels, Sam!" The Doctor called out, speaking quickly. Sam could hear him moving around rapidly, and the whirring noise of that screwdriver kept breaking in as well. (_Seriously, how was that thing loud enough for them to hear all the way down here?_)

"Are they dangerous?"

"They're the most malevolent and yet humane assassins in the universe, so yeah, I guess you might say that they're dangerous."

"Third one!" Rory gave a warning shout as yet another angel showed its face at his right.

Sam swung his head around towards Rory, pulling his knife out of his pocket, but Rory yelled out, "SAM! WATCH THE ANGEL!" The Winchester whirled back and faced the statue.

_Oh my god, it's moved. _

The left arm of the angel had been raised chest level when Sam had turned his back, but now, it was above the angel's head.

"Don't blink." The Doctor called, his voice taking on a dark and dangerous tone. "The angels are quantum locked, Sam, so the second you aren't looking at them, the very _second_...they attack. You can't so much as blink. Do. Not. Blink, Sam."

Sam had a vague recollection of a high school physics teacher mumbling something about quantum mechanics and Schrödinger's Cat. How these statues tied in with a cat that was dead-but-wasn't-dead-at-the-same-time was a mystery to him, and one that he didn't care to have explained to him at this time.

Almost as an afterthought, his flashlight suddenly dropped to a dim yellow, which signaled it was close to being drained of power.

"Rory, my flashlight's going out." He said quietly.

Rory swallowed. "Okay, let's think about this for a second..."

"Rory! Rory, you've got to get out of there!" Amy yelped. "Your torch is fading!"

"That much was obvious, Amy!" Sam yelled, as his torch flickered yet again.

"Thanks Ames, that might actually be a smart idea." Rory said, and Sam could hear the other man's breathing coming fast and loud. There was a moment's pause, and then Rory's words spilled out faster than even the Doctor on a rampage. "Sam, these angels don't fly so they obviously had to get in here from somewhere outside and since there were no holes in the floorboards before we walked in and I saw no trap doors (because trust me I looked) there has to be a doorway out of here which is accessible to humans and since the angels are right there in front of us I suggest we turn around and look in the opposite direction, so basically...RUN!"

Sam had no arguments with the plan. Kicking straw out of his way, he scrambled after Rory, doing his best to move backwards so as to keep his eyes on the statues. He thought the Doctor must have been overdoing his warning, because he _knew_he had blinked several times, but the statues stayed completely still.

"Rory!" He tried to project his voice towards the sound of running footsteps. "Can you see anything?"

"No! Just keep running!"

"What about walls?!"

"Might hurt, but better than dying!"

The angels were moving now; slowly, but surely. Each time Sam looked away for a second to try and see where he was running to, he heard the noise of stone scraping over stone. Each time he looked back, the angels had moved towards him and Rory.

And suddenly, Sam realized two things. One, it was _extremely_ cold. Two, the angels weren't coming for him and Rory directly. They almost seemed to be..._stalling._

A sudden burst of sunlight, blinding and warm, flooded the room. A door, the sort of basement door that leads to the outside, had been thrown open. Sherlock Holmes stood in the opening, one hand beckoning quickly at Sam and Rory. "Come on! Run! They don't come out in the sun, get out here!"

"Go!" Sam yelled at Rory, keeping his eyes on the statues. "I'm right behind you!"

Rory seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then turned and ran for the door. He could be heard clambering up the three steps in front of the door as Sherlock yelled out, "Sam! Come on!"

Sam gave the angels one last threatening look before whirling around and running. Heart pounding, breathing amplified, arms and legs flying, all he wanted was to just get out into the sunlight and away from those...those..._things_. His whole body felt flooded with relief when he felt Sherlock's hand grasp his upper arm and almost drag him into the outdoors. He collapsed, panting and shaking, on the dusty ground.

"Shut the door!" He gasped out. "Shut it now!"

"No!" Rory exclaimed, from where he lay about two feet away. "Wait! There's someone else in there!"

Sherlock hesitated for an instant, then swooped down, scooped up Sam's torch and shone it all around the basement. "No one's in there." He said swiftly, and with a definite and speedy motion, he slammed the door shut and latched it tight.

Rory was on his feet and staring with horror at the door. "No! She was in there! I saw her while we were running!"

"She's not there now." Sherlock stated stiffly, as though that were the end of the discussion. "Right. Winchester, you injured?"

Sam had originally intended to reassure Sherlock that he would be fine in a few moments, but the second Rory grabbed Sherlock's collar and looked ready to shake him, Sam changed tactics. "Rory! Whoa!" The Winchester jumped up and shoved the two apart. "Guys, guys, settle down."

"He might have just killed her!" Rory spat. "Sam, you were right next to her by the hay bale. And you didn't even help her!"

"There was no one in there!" Sherlock exclaimed. "Honestly, what is it like to be all funny and stupid like all of you people!"

"Rory, we can't go back in there now." Sam said quietly, trying to emit some sort of calming energy, since Rory looked like he was about to murder something. "We can't go back in, but I need you to talk to me, okay? I didn't see anyone."

"She was right next to you!" Rory was shaking, though not with fear. "She was right next to you! The second the angels showed up, I saw her. She was wearing that white dress..."

"Rory!" Amy's voice made them all start. "Oh my god, Rory!" The red-head came running around the corner of the building and straight for her husband. Throwing her arms about him, she clung to him tightly. "Are you alright? Are you hurt? Did you look in its eyes?"

"We're fine, Amy." Sam reassured her, though he was starting to wonder how true that was for Rory.

Rory, for once, didn't even seem to acknowledge the presence of his wife. He pointed an accusing, trembling finger at Sherlock. "And you! You didn't even give her a chance to get out! You shut the door in her face! Didn't you see...didn't you see how scared she was?"

Sam looked over at Sherlock, unsure of how to react to the situation. He knew he hadn't seen anyone or anything down there other than the statues and Rory, but, being a hunter, he wasn't quite ready to count out the man's statement that he had seen someone down there.

Sherlock was running his eyes up and down Rory, not looking very pleased, but not saying anything either, which was a bit of a relief. It took a few moments, but he finally sighed, reached into his trouser pocket, and produced what looked like an MP3 player, but, on closer inspection...

"Hey, that's...that's Dean's! Where'd you get that?!" Sam made a grab for the EMF detector that had somehow ended up in the consulting detective's pocket. Sherlock dodged the grab easily.

"I pickpocket people when they're annoying." He said shortly, fiddling with the small machine. "Your brother is _very_annoying." He moved forward towards the door to the basement and held up the body of the detector, carefully scanning the doorway.

"It was a ghost." Said the voice of the Doctor, who had somehow managed to sneak up behind Rory and Amy and startle them. The alien's face was grim as he continued, "A ghost, or what humans see as a ghost. Didn't you hear about that suicide, Sam, while you were asking around?" The Doctor turned and looked the ancient, ruined building before him up and down. "So. Ghost, Weeping Angels, and a Time Crack. The score just keeps rising."

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_A/N: Leave a review, please? You get a plate of your favorite dessert being shared with you by a cuddly Winchester if you leave one! :)_


	8. Chapter 8

**(EDIT:) **Possible Trigger Warning, mentions about suicide****

**Sam and Dean are passing out copious amounts of desserts all over the place, and if there's a bit of desert in your dessert, then we apologize for the inconvenience.**

**Some simply amazing people reviewed during last week and this week, and I am so grateful. I mean, really, they made me happier than the Doctor with the TARDIS.**

**Disclaimer: *unamused angel glare* I do not own these shows. **

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"Ghost?" Sam repeated. He nodded. "Makes sense; I was noticing how cold it got in there. But then..."

"Cold? Ghost? What?" Rory, his initial rage now over, almost seemed to be powering down like a clockwork toy; repeating bits of information aimlessly and unable to comprehend what was happening.

The Doctor nodded and clapped a hand on Rory's back. "Yes, Rory, the woman you saw was undoubtedly a conscious imprint on the..."

"You saw a ghost." Sam interrupted, not wanting to spend more time than necessary on explanations. The Doctor frowned; in such a way that it almost looked like a pout, but Sam ignored him. "It explains why none of the rest of us saw her, and why the temperature dropped so drastically."

"It does?" Rory ran his hands through his hair, looking a trifle overcome by the sudden onslaught of information. Amy rubbed his back gently and consolingly, but he didn't look much the better for it.

"Yeah, typically when a spirit or ghost appears, the temperature of the surrounding area drops until around...eh...usually until you can see your breath."

"It's gone now." Sherlock announced, pocketing the EMF detector and straightening. He kept his back turned to them, appearing to study the wall with deep concentration.

"Can we...er...move away from this place?" Amy suggested sheepishly. "Not to sound like a baby or anything but it kinda gives me the creeps; Time Crack and Weeping Angels and ghost and all..."

Sam eyed the building with suspicion and readily agreed, as did the Doctor, and they headed out towards the street, Sherlock sort of dawdling along behind.

Sam hated this part of his job, but it was the most vital bit. Getting people to talk about what they had seen. Nobody ever wanted to talk about _it_, or, if they did, it could go on for hours. It was understandable, of course, everyone was scared after a supernatural encounter of any sort, but it was still highly annoying. Still, Sam had to do it." Rory, I need you to tell me everything you can remember about the woman. What she looked like, what she was wearing, what she was doing..." Behind them, Sherlock let out an exasperated sort of laugh, as though he knew from past experience what was going to happen here. Sam, as he was learning to do, ignored the man and stay focused on Rory. "So..."

Rory, as it turned out, was fairly experienced in explaining necessary details and explaining them quickly enough. Within ten minutes, (and only because the Doctor wouldn't stop interrupting with useless details and explanations), Sam had a complete description of a female ghost, approximately 35 years old, with dark hair, (Rory wasn't sure what color exactly), wearing a white tank-top and, as Rory described them, "Sort of...light...pinkish...sweat pants...like what Ames wears on a comfy sort of Saturday."

"Was she wearing a wedding ring?"

Sherlock's sudden and unexpected question startled them all; but then, Sherlock tended to have that effect on people. Rory squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his forehead, trying to dig up a memory. His eyes suddenly opened, and he exclaimed, "Yeah...yeah she was! 'Cause I saw it on her finger when she jumped over to help Sam." Sherlock nodded, pulled out his mobile phone, and was lost to the world as he concentrated.

"Me?" Now Sam was confused. "She jumped over to...help me? Help...wait...what did she do?"

"Well...you took your eyes off your angel. So she sort of...stared at it for you."

"Ohhh, now that's interesting!" The Doctor exclaimed, leaning backwards with a semi-maniacal grin on his face. "A ghost who helps out a paranormal hunter! That's a new one..."

Sam gave the Doctor an annoyed glare. "Did she say anything?" He asked, directing the question at Rory.

"Not that I heard." Rory nervously scratched the back of his head. "Are you...are you sure you didn't see her?"

"Oh, come on!" Sherlock exclaimed, shaking his mobile. "Work, you infernal connection!"

"Will you just shut up?" Sam snapped, finally frustrated to the breaking point with the man.

"Nope." Sherlock replied calmly.

Sam turned red, and made a strangling motion with his hands, growling in the back of his throat. Rory muttered, "No wonder John seems so calm if he has to put up with all that man's..." And the Doctor, looking awkward, as though he'd been caught in the middle of an argument (which he sort of had been), surreptitiously slid his sonic screwdriver out of his jacket pocket and buzzed it in Sherlock's general direction.

"Was that a 'volume down' setting?" Amy asked, and the hopeful tone she used made Sam snicker.

"No...just a general sort of internet connection boost for mobile phones with no intergalactic reception..." The Doctor began, but his scientific triad was (thankfully) cut short by the familiar black Impala rolling up the street. It pulled to a stop next to the group, sending up a whirlwind of dust that had them all blinking and coughing for a few moments. When the dust finally cleared, there was Dean, a coil of rope slung over his shoulder, and a wide grin on his face.

"I love this!" He exclaimed happily. "I get a dramatic entrance whenever I get out of the car!" He caught sight of Rory and Sam and blinked. "Oh. They got you guys out. Guess I don't need this." He shrugged the coil of rope off his shoulder and ran it through his hands. He glanced over at Rory and quirked his mouth in confusion, and Sam would have sworn on a stack of Bibles that his brother, Dean Winchester, who was fully human and decidedly non-angelic...tilted his head to the side in way that was highly reminiscent of Castiel. "You alright, man?"

"Saw a ghost and Weeping Angels." Rory said, his tone dry and sarcastic. "Got chased by said Weeping Angels. But fine other than that. It's okay."

It was obvious that Dean was not good at hiding his emotions, as his mouth dropped open and concern, fear, and frustration all fought to be the prime emotion glimmering in his eyes. He looked torn between yelling at Sam out of brotherly concern and sending a stream of questions at Rory, but was unable to make up his mind, so his mouth simply made stammering noises and did nothing else.

"We're good, bro." Sam reassured his brother quickly. "They were kinda scary but we're..."

"You saw this woman?" Sherlock interrupted, stalking over to Rory and thrusting his mobile phone up in the man's face.

"Whoa, whoa, heyyyyy!" Amy exclaimed, shoving Sherlock back. "You're gettin' on my nerves, Purple Shirt Boy. Didn't anyone ever teach you that it's rude to shove something up in someone's face?!"

"I ask him that on a daily basis." Said John, who had finally exited the Impala and was now joining the group, hands in his pockets. "Hello."

"Enough talking." Sherlock said forcefully, his eyes kindled with an angry impatience. "_Was_ this the woman you saw or _wasn't _it?"

John, Amy, and Dean all looked ready to step in, but Rory waved them all off. "Lemme see." He took the phone from Sherlock's hand and studied the screen intently. He nodded and held it out for everyone to see. "Yeah, that's her. I'm almost certain. 'Cept that she looks younger here."

A chorus of "Let me see!" and "Rory, give me the phone!" along with lots of grabbing at the phone and shoving revealed a small photo of a woman, enlarged just enough so that they could see her face without it being blurred by lack of pixels.

"Julia Cordero." Sherlock said blandly, rattling off the facts as if they were a grocery list. "34 years old, suffered from acute depression, married, childless. Three months ago, local police found her body at the bottom of a cliff. Ruled a suicide."

"That's awful." Amy said slowly.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "People die every day, every second, all around the world, in hospitals, in wars, murder, illness, old age, suicide. They've been doing that for generations; _why _is no one used to it by this point?"

This time, Rory and John had to physically hold back an outraged Sam, and Amy stepped in front of a murderous looking Dean, shaking her head quickly with a "That'd be a bad ideaaaa!" face.

"Because death is always surprising." The Doctor interrupted, and he had the same terrible face and frightening tone he had used with Crowley. "Because death is not something that you ever, _ever_...take for granted. Because alive is good, alive is normal, alive is safe and happy...but death...death is always sad. It's sad and it's angry and it's terrible and you never, ever, ever, pretend that it's normal, because death is the end of normality and the beginning of chaos because death is the end of life. Death...is not normal. Death never _will_ be normal. And _that _is why no one will ever be 'used' to death."

There was a tense silence, as the deeply emotional eyes of the Doctor bored into the uncaring ones of Sherlock. The similarities between the two were many, but where the Doctor had many emotions, Sherlock had none. Or so it seemed.

John coughed awkwardly. "So...salt and burn?" He joked half heartedly, in an attempt to lessen the tension in the air.

"Amy and I can do that." Dean said seriously, obviously not seeing it as a joke. When Amy gave him a confused look, he explained, "You...dig up the grave of the person...salt their remains and burn 'em. That way they...uh...are at peace. Can't wander the earth anymore."

"Whoa, no, no, Amy's not doing that." Rory said firmly, but Amy gave him a dismissive pat on the shoulder.

"Ohhh, shut up, Stupid-Face..." She said easily. "Might be a bit gross, but at least it's not as bad as nearly bein' eaten by an Ood."

"Amy, Weeping Angels and Ghosts and now burning a body?" Rory took his wife by the shoulders and turned her to face him. "Not safe. Not letting you go."

"It's actually perfectly safe." The Doctor, with his usual, positive attitude restored, bounced over next to the group and clapped Amy and Dean on the back. "Wouldn't worry, Rory, middle of the day, lots of sun out...what could possibly go wrong?"

"Everything?"

"...I can do it alone..." Dean said rather awkwardly. "...don't really wanna 'cause..."

"Nope, it's good." Amy said firmly. "Get in the Impala and drive. Salt and burn!" She grabbed Dean's elbow and dragged him off towards the vintage car. The last bit of their conversation could be heard as they got in the car. "...where's the body buried, exactly?" Then the doors slammed shut, the engine revved, and the Impala left the remaining people standing in a cloud of dust.

"Question." John said. "Now what?"

"She had a husband." Sherlock answered promptly, snatching his phone out of Rory's hand and pocketing it. "Go interview the husband."

"...why?"

"To see why she killed herself and what she was doing in an abandoned store building and why she's still haunting the place and why she's near the Weeping Angels, of course!"

"Now hang on Sherlock..."

"I'll go with you." Sam offered. "I do this all the time, but it might be nice to have someone who knows about the Weeping Angels along too. Rory?"

Rory sighed and nodded. "Yeah...I'll go along."

"Then, Sherlock and I will go and...do important things." The Doctor spoke with a mysterious air, but it was clear he wasn't quite sure what he was doing yet. Then he snapped his fingers. "Oh yeah! Very important thing! Sherlock, TARDIS, now." He started running off, but Sherlock stayed stock still.

"Why?"

"Experiments of the scientific and sciency sort!" The Doctor exclaimed. "Got a question about one of those angels, now come on!"

Sherlock suddenly grinned. "Science and experiments! Now...there's something to be excited about." He ran off after the Doctor as though he were running after a new case, which, John reflected, might actually be what he was doing.

The members of Team Free Will/TARDIS Free Williams/Watson all looked at each other, and waved their fingers hello.

"The three W's back together again. All on our own." Sam half groaned.

"Yeaaah...you get used to it." Rory said. "So. Interview and then tea?"

"Sounds lovely." John replied. "Anyone know where this bloke lives?"

"Nope." Sam turned and started heading for the town. "Guess we're gonna have to ask."

"Then, seriously, let's get tea first." Rory pleaded. "I'm half parched and I'm...starvin' and..."

He was interrupted by John brushing past him and stalking forward and grumbling, "Forget aliens, forget angels, forget anything in this bloody place. I'm going to get a cup of tea."

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_A/N: Leave a review, and Rory delivers a box of pizza to your house! (...Supernaturalists...you can...look at that in a different light if you really want...call him the pizza-man or something...)_

_A few replies to make! _

_ elf: Dean says no, because when he googled it, the definition of a tiramisu was a "cake". He says that doesn't count. But it might still taste pretty good._

_ Heiress Grey: LOL, I knew someone was going to ask after that. No, no Johnlock, I'm afraid. Sherlock's staying in full on sociopath mode during this story. No physical relationships of any sort. Also, the "three W's" reference in here is for you. I didn't even notice that about their last names until you commented. _


	9. Chapter 9

_Wow. So...it's been a while. I offer my sincerest apologies. I went through a nasty bout of writer's block. I only barely managed to scrape my way past. I sort of...threw this chapter together as best as I could, which is basically the only cure for writer's block that I know._

_Okay, enough rambling. _

_Disclaimer: Yeah, there's a copyright sticker on Supernatural, Doctor Who, and Sherlock. That's because they're not MINE. I pick pocket writers when they get annoying. Like...Moffat and the Ponds. *sniffles*_

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"Tea" or "a late lunch", according to Sam, was a surprisingly relaxing affair over some pizza and iced tea. The tea had ice because, as Rory said, "We've got to go American!" (John also added that hot tea tasted terrible with pizza.) The conversation was a bit heavy at first, as Rory and Sam explained what a Weeping Angel was and what had happened in the basement, but then it turned to lighter topics such as English football teams and the difference between cricket and baseball. When the waitress finally came to clear away their dishes, Sam briefly considered flirting with her, decided against it, and only asked, "Would you happen to know a man named Manuel Cordero?"

"Yeah, actually." The waitress said cheerfully, carefully reaching for Sam's plate, in such a way that her wrist just barely brushed over his. "He used to own this place, but he sold it after his wife died."

"Quick sale." Rory commented.

"Are you kidding? This place is like...the only popular restaurant in the area. Mr. Cordero had three people wanting to buy it from him for months."

"Why's that?" John asked. "I mean...why's it so popular?"

The waitress (Sam discovered from her name tag that her name was Lindsay) giggled. "You really wanna know?" She leaned in close. "'Cause our air conditioning is actually reliable." She gave a conspiratorial wink, and the three man gave a courtesy laugh.

"Well, would you happen to know where we might find him?" Sam asked, after the suitable amount of laughter had subsided.

It took some time, a couple of fabricated stories about being journalists and writing about small but popular local restaurants in small towns, and quite a bit of flirting on Sam's part, but they were finally standing outside a nice, spacious looking house with garden out front, filled with cacti and a trickling fountain. The sun was just beginning to set, casting a sometimes blinding glow over the white walls of the house and garden. Thankfully, though, the temperature was beginning to fall a little.

The members of TFW stood outside the door, feeling awkward and unsure of what they were doing. All of them were missing the prime spokesperson that they were used to, and knocking on doors had never been a speciality of any of theirs. So they argued for a few minutes over who was going to knock, growing more and more awkward, until finally, John, in a burst of confidence, raised his fist and knocked.

The team fell silent, and waited for some sort of a response from the inside.

"Maybe...nobody's home?" Rory asked, looking hopeful. Sam gave him a look not unlike one he'd seen Dean throw his way many a time, and resumed waiting.

It took nearly a minute, and John was about to suggest that they leave, when the door suddenly opened, revealing a dark haired man, with darker skin tones, in his mid to late thirties, who looked as though he hadn't slept the night before, if his bloodshot eyes and the bags below them were any testament. Despite his exhausted appearance, however, he still wore a professional looking polo shirt and well pressed khaki pants, as though he was about to go out golfing.

"Yes? Hello. Can I help you?" He seemed calm and professional, but his eyes kept blinking over and over again, giving him a slightly flustered appearance.

"Mr. Manuel Cordero?" Sam inquired, keeping his voice gentle but steady.

"Yes. And who would you be?"

"My name's Sam Winchester...this is Rory Williams and Dr. John Watson." He gestured to the two other men before continuing, "We would like to ask you a few questions about your wife, if that's alright with you."

"What's this all about?" Mr. Cordero's face currently showed straight up confusion, but the beginnings of suspicion and anger were glimmering behind the prime emotion.

_Best not let it come to that._ John stepped forward, keeping his posture straight and his gaze piercingly military. "Mr. Cordero, I'm actually _Captain_ John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. We're working with the police on these recent murder cases."

"Murder cases..." The man looked shocked now, as well as confused. "But the police said..."

"Extremely recent and not yet spoken about to the public." John continued, using that snappish, brisk tone that he'd used in the Army. "We may have found a connection to you and your wife's recent death. We'd like to ask you a few questions."

Cordero cleared his throat, obviously using it as a distraction so he could consider his options. He gave one last look at John, then stood up a little straighter, opened the door a little wider, and stood back. "Come in, then."

John, secretly pleased by the awed looks Sam and Rory were giving him, quirked his mouth. "Working with Sherlock...you learn things."

They were led into a spacious living room, with orange walls, brown leather couches and a large bay window, which allowed copious amounts of sunlight to stream in. The place was decorated with antique clocks and decorative cactuses in little pots. Manuel offered them all a seat, taking one himself on the couch opposite from the one he offered to them. Sam and John sat down, but Rory remained standing, surveying the room with slightly narrowed eyes.

"Now, gentlemen, before you say anything..." Mr. Cordero said slowly, shifting uncomfortably. "My wife's death was ruled a suicide. She had depression, she even left a note, and I don't see why it could possibly be connected to any..." He paused before saying much more quietly, "...murders."

"The investigation is still ongoing." Sam said, using a gentle tone. "We just need to know a few things, to help us...tie up loose ends. You said that your wife left a note?"

Mr. Cordero nodded. "In her journal. Her last entry. But before you ask, no, I don't have it anymore. After the investigation, I...well, I burned it."

Rory tensed, to the point where Sam saw him visibly stiffen; though at what, he had no idea. Attempting to ignore it, he continued with his line of questions, "Well, can you remember what the note..."

"Did your wife collect these cactuses?" Rory interrupted. Sam turned and stared at him, shocked by the abruptness of the question, not to mention the interruption. Mr. Cordero seemed mildly surprised, but nodded.

"Yes. Yes she did. She said the plant was a sort of role model for her. It...well, it's strong enough to survive the desert, it's prickly and harsh sometimes, but it bears beautiful fruit."

Rory smiled, but certainly not a genuine smile. "And the cactuses...she kept them all organized like this? You haven't moved them?"

"Rory." Sam muttered, giving him a look. Mr. Cordero looked confused once again.

"No, no I haven't moved any of them. Why does that matter?"

Rory looked as though he had something to say, but swallowed, licked his lips, and shook his head. "Never mind. It's um...profiling. Complicated."

John coughed, anxious to get past the interruption. "Mr. Cordero, can you remember what the note your wife left...what it said?"

Mr. Cordero ran a hand down his face. His emotions apparently changed almost instantaneously, for he now looked (though understandably) grief stricken. "I...I'm sorry, I really don't want to, it was..."

"We understand how difficult this is for you." Sam said gently, leaning forward in his seat and giving the man his dewey, innocent, puppy eyes. "But it would really help our investigation."

Cordero exhaled. A sheen of sweat, possibly from anxiety, was visible on his forehead. "Ahhh...she said...she could no longer stay in a world where...uh...where no one saw the flowers, they only saw the thorns. And she said she..." His eyes began to grow red and his voice thick. "...she said she was tired of being blamed for the wounds that others caused." He stopped, apparently unable to continue. "I'm sorry...I..."

Sam's mobile phone suddenly rang. A quick check of the caller ID revealed the caller to be Dean. "I'm sorry...I gotta take this." Sam said apologetically, getting up. "I'll be right back." He left the room and answered. "Yeah?"

"Sammy, hey. Soooo...Amy and I are at the graveyard, and we went in the Corderos' mausoleum. And uh...I betcha'll never guess what we found out."

Sam hated it when Dean got playful about graves and bodies. "What, Dean?"

"There was apparently...a recent theft from the place. According to the groundkeeper, the place used to have five stone angel statues on the roof in a sort of ring."

"...go on."

"Well, about three weeks ago, he shows up one morning and all five statues are gone."

Something was beginning to form a pattern in Sam's mind. Urgently, he asked, "Three weeks ago? What date? What exact date?"

"Uh...I think he said a Tuesday." Dean replied slowly.

Sam thought back to a Tuesday in the last week of January. "The...31st of January." Realization dawned on him, and he gasped, "Oh god...Dean, it...it's all connected! Somehow, someway, it's all connected! The first disappearance occurred on the 3rd... and then the murders all after the 5th...all after this theft of the angel statues from Julia's tomb...Dean, there's some connection here!"

"You think Julia had something to do with it?"

"I...I don't know. It's just...it's starting to make sense now. Look, Rory and I nearly got killed by those...Crying Angel creatures or whatever, and they totally looked like stone angels. Like, I thought that's what they were until they started chasing us and Rory said he saw the ghost or something. Maybe...maybe Julia's death isn't really a suicide and the Angels killed her?"

Dean sounded skeptical as he replied, "Ehhh, I dunno, Sammy. The groundskeeper said that Julia hung out around here a lot about a week before she killed herself. Sounds more suicidal than...you know, someone about to be murdered."

"Dean, I...look." Sam sighed into the phone and gestured uselessly, attempting to collect his thoughts into a clear pattern. "I don't know why Julia Cordero is connected to this case, or why her ghost saved me, or why these friggin' angels showed up for no good reason, but there is just no way this can be a coincidence. We're just missing pieces to the puzzle."

"Forget about puzzle _pieces_, we've just got the puzzle _box_. But I'll give you one thing. The timing. Definite pattern. I think I'm gonna hold off putting dear dead Julia to rest until we know a little more about this."

"Good idea." Sam agreed. He exhaled. "Right, I'm gonna see if Rory and John got anything more out of the husband."

"Yeah, alright. Call me if you find anything."

"Got it."

Sam hung up, took a deep breath, and attempted, yet again, to collect his thoughts. He breathed in deeply a few times, steeling himself for whatever the hell was coming next. With a mutter of "Dammit, Castiel, where are you?" Sam headed back into the living room.

He was met in the doorway by John, who was pocketing a small notepad. "Oh, there you are! Good, I think we have everything we need." He turned and smiled in a professional kind of way at Manuel. "Thank you, Mr Cordero, we'll be in touch."

"And, again, we are so sorry for your loss." Sam added, extending a hand and a pair of kind, understanding, puppy dog eyes. Mr. Cordero nodded silently, and shook Sam's hand, then John's. Rory stood over by the exit doorway, seemingly impatient to leave and having no desire to shake their host's hand. Which, Sam noted, was definitely not like Rory (well, what he knew of Rory, anyway), and probably meant the man had noticed something.

And, as it turned out, Rory had. The instant the door to the house had closed behind them, Rory turned to his two companions and said firmly, "Something's off about him."

"He _did_ just lost his wife a few months ago under traumatic circumstances." John reminded him, heading down the path towards the street. "Give him a bit of a break."

"Did you see the cactuses?" Rory insisted, stalking after John. "His wife was _obsessed_ with those plants, okay, they were her joy. He never moved them, he never touched them, they're still in the exact same place where she last left them."

"Rory, grieving family members never move a loved one's things." Sam said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "It's perfectly normal behavior for a grieving husband."

Rory, in answer, stopped, and pointed at Sam, nodding his head briskly. "Exactly. Exactly my point. But did you hear what he said about her journal? Eh? He..." Here he pointed an almost angry finger at the house. "...said he'd burned her journal. Her diary. A woman's diary is something close to her heart, and no proper grieving family member would ever burn one."

John furrowed his brow in confusion. "Well, he...he said his wife had left her suicide note in it; that's a little hard to..." his words trailed off as he realized that, no, family members don't just get rid of their loved one's last words. "Well so...he..."

"Something was in that journal." Rory stated. "Something important."

"Or he used it in some kind of ritual." Sam added, for the sake of having all the possibilities on the table.

"Or that. Either way...there was something in there Cordero didn't want us to see."

"Now we just have to find out whether he burnt the whole thing or if he's still got it somewhere." John said. He inhaled through his nose. "Might need Sherlock for that one."

Sam nodded. "You text him or call him, let him know what's going on. I'll call Dean." He grinned at Rory as he reached for his phone. "Nice work, Columbo."

Rory, his moment of severity in the limelight over, smiled with a certain amount of embarrassment and gave a shrug. "Welllll, you know. Perks of being a husband. An'...well, I guess studying humans habits for about two thousand years." He added, in a quiet sort of afterthought. "Some things we do will never change."

* * *

_A/N: Hope you all enjoyed. :) Have a cuddly hedgehog and otter. _

_ Heiress Grey: Well, it is, indeed, standard procedure for the Winchesters to automatically salt and burn bones if they find a ghost wandering around. Otherwise, the spirit may turn vengeful, which...means bad news. However, dear Julia's getting a chance here. :) _


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